THOMAS  L.  MASSON 


.X^.    fi/- 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


^v 


AMERICAN  ORATIONS,  to  Illustrate  American  Politi- 
cal History.  Edited,  with  Introductions,  by  Professor  A tax- 
ANUEK  Johnston.     Three  vols.,  i6mo,  $3.75  and  $4.50. 

BRITISH  ORATIONS.  Edited,  with  Introduction  and 
Notes,  by  Professor  Charles  K.  Adams.  Three  vols.,  i6mo. 
$3-75  a"d  $4-50- 

PROSE  MASTERPIECES  FROM  MODERN  ESSAY- 
ISTS. Compiled  by  Gbo.  H.  Putnam.  Three  vols.,  i6mo, 
I3.75  and  $4.50. 

HUMOROUS  MASTERPIECES  FROM  AMERICAN 
LITERATURE.  Edited  by  Edward  T.  Mason.  1  hree 
vols,  i6mo,  $3.75  and  $4  50. 

BRITISH  LETTERS.  Edited  by  Edward  T.  Mason. 
Three  vols.,  i6mo,  $3.75  and  $4.50. 


G.  P.   PUTNAM'S  SONS,  Nkw  York  and  London. 


Humorous  Masterpieces 


FROM 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE 


EDITED   BY 


EDWARD  T.  MASON 


NEW    YORK   &.    LONDON 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

Silje  ^nitlurbotlur  J^rcss 

1S95 


COrVRlGMT    BV 

G.  p.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

1886 


TTbc  ■fcitlcfecrboclicr  f>rc99,  lAcw  )jorh 

J*.icttrotyi>f '1,  rrintc'l,  .nn-l  Itound  hy 
(J.  1*.  Puliiaiii'k  Soil!) 


LW^L. 


M2>7l 


V.I 
PREFACE. 


THE  chief  object  of  these  volumes  is  to 
amuse  ;  but,  perhaps,  they  may  also 
lielp  to  illustrate  some  phases  of  American 
literature.  Humor  is  certainly  one  of  the 
strong  characteristics  of  our  literature ;  and 
the  attempt  has  here  been  made  to  bring  to- 
gether, in  an  attractive  form  and  within  a 
moderate  compass,  some  worthy  examples  of 
humorous  writing,  from  the  time  of  Irving  to 
the  present  day.  It  need  scarcely  be  said  that 
no  claim  is  made  to  an  exhaustive  treatment  of 
the  subject. 

The  title  for  the  series  was  chosen,  with  some 
hesitation,  as  being  fairly  descriptive,  in  a  gen- 
eral sense.  Its  strict  accuracy  may  doubtless, 
in  certain  instances,  be  open  to  question  ;  for, 
while  it  is  believed  that  nothing  unworthy  of 
preservation  has  been  admitted,  it  was  neces- 
sary, in  order  to  make  the  work  fitly  representa- 
tive, to  include  some  sketches  which  are  hardly 
entitled  to  take  rank  as  masterpieces.     In  jus- 

iii 


irN'vV 


IV  PREFACE. 


tice  to  himself,  the  editor  must  add  that  the 
final  choice  of  the  particular  material  selected 
has  not  always  been  decided  by  his  preference, 
and  is  not  always  in  entire  accord  with  his  judg- 
ment ;  in  a  few  cases  it  was  found  necessary  to 
leave  the  selection  to  be  determined  by  the 
wishes  of  the  respective  authors  or  of  their 
publishers. 

A  well-founded,  undeniable  grievance,  the 
grounds  for  which  can  be  clearly  set  forth,  is  so 
comfortable  a  luxury,  that  there  is  a  strong 
temptation  to  dwell  upon  a  few  of  the  special 
difficulties  which  have  perplexed  the  compiler 
of  these  volumes.  But,  Cni  bono  ?  If  the  work- 
is  dull,  apologies  are  quite  useless  ;  if  it  is  not 
dull,  they  are  uncalled  for. 

Cordial  thanks  are  due  to  the  many  living 
writers  whose  work  is  here  represented.  It  is 
pleasant  to  be  able  to  say  that,  in  a  correspond- 
ence with  more  than  fifty  literary  workers,  not 
a  letter  has  been  received  which  was  not 
gracious  in  spirit  and  courteous  in  expression. 
The  editor  would  express  his  deep  sense  of 
obligation  for  kindnesses  which  he  had  no  right 
to  expect.  lie  would  also  acknowledge  his 
large  indebtedness  to  Mr.  Geo.  Haven  Putnam, 
whose   skilful   aid    removed    some    unexpected 


PREFACE.  V 


and  embarrassing  obstacles,  and  whose  wise 
counsel  justly  entitles  him  to  be  considered  a 
co-editor  of  this  work. 

The  larger  part  of  the  material  has  been  taken 
from  copyrighted  books,  and  could  not  have 
been  used  without  the  consent  of  the  copyright 
owners  and  the  publishers.  This  consent  was 
freely  given,  and  is  thankfully  acknowledged. 
The  publishing  firms  to  whose  courtesy  the  edi- 
tor is  indebted  for  permission  to  use  selections 
from  works  owned  or  published  by  them  are : 
Messrs.  D.  Appleton  &  Co.  ;  G.  W.  Carleton  & 
Co. ;  Cassell  &  Co. ;  The  Century  Co. ;  Estes  & 
Lauriat ;  Fords,  Howard,  &  Hurlbut ;  Harper  & 
Brothers  ;  Henry  Holt  &  Co. ;  Houghton,  Mif- 
flin, &  Co. ;  Lee&Shepard;  Mitchell  &  Miller ; 
the  editor  of  Outing ;  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Broth- 
ers ;     Roberts    Brothers  ;     Charles     Scribner's 

Sons  ;  and  Ticknor  &  Co. 

E.  T.  M. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Washington  Irving 1-24 

Wouter  Van  Twiller 

I 

Wilhelmus  Kieft     . 

10 

Peter  Stuyvesant     . 

.           16 

Antony  Van  Corlear 

.           18 

General  Van  Poffenburgh 

21 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne    , 

25-47 

Dr.  Heidegger's  Experiment  . 

•         25 

The  British  Matron 

.       43 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

.       48 

A  Wraith  in  the  Mist 

.       48 

Edmund  Quincy 

49-84 

Who  Paid  for  the  Prima  Donna  ? 

.       49 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  . 

85-96 

Foreign  Correspondence 

.       85 

Music  Pounding 

89 

The  Old  Man  Dreams     . 

.       gi 

Dislikes            .... 

■       93 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe 

97-105 

Sam  Lawson            .... 

•       97 

Henry  Ward  Beecher 

106-117 

Deacon  Marble 

.     106 

The  Deacon's  Trout 

.     109 

The  Dog  Noble  and  the  Empty  Hole 

.     Ill 

Apple  Pie 

.     "3 

Vll 


VI II 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

JosEi'ii  G.  Baldwin 118-142 

Ovi.l  Bolus,  Esq 118 

I'REDEKicK  William  Suklton  ....  143-141J 
Incidents  ill  a  Retired  Life      .....     143 

Thomas  Bangs  TuoRrE '50-155 

A  "  Hoosier"  in  Search  of  Justice  .         .     150 

John  Godfrey  Sa.xe 156-157 

The  Coquette — A  Portrait       .....     156 

James  Thomas  Fields 158-166 

The  Pettibone  Lineage   .         .         .         .         .         •     158 

Frederick  S.  Cozzens 167-178 

The  Family  Horse  ......     167 

Henry  W,  Shaw  ("7^/5  i9«//jM^j")   .        .        .      179-183 

The  Musketeer 179 

Laffing 180 

James  Russell  Lowell 184-198 

At  Sea 184 

The  Chief  Mate 186 

The  Courtin'  ........     194 

Lucretia  p.  Hale 199-212 

Modern  Improvements  at  the  Peterkins  .         .         .     199 

Edward  Everett  Hale 213-235 

My  DouMc  and  How  He  Undid  Me        .         .         .     213 

Richard  Malcolm  Johnston  ....  236-252 
The  Various  Languages  of  Billy  Moon   .  .     236 

Charles  Godfrey  Leland        ....      253-271 

A  Musical  Duel 253 

Schnitzerl's  Philosopcde 262 

Selection  from  Breitman's  Going  to  Church  .     264 

Geor(;k  William  Cirtis 272-287 

From  the  Summer  Diary  of  Minerva  Tattle  272 


WASHINGTON   IRVING. 

(born,   1783 — DIED,  1859.) 


WOUTER  VAN   TWILLER. 

IT  was  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1629  that  Myn- 
heer Wouter  Van  Twiller  was  appointed 
governor  of  the  province  of  Nieuw  Nederlandts, 
under  the  commission  and  control  of  their  High 
Mightinesses  the  Lords  States  General  of  the 
United  Netherlands,  and  the  privileged  West 
India  Company. 

This  renowned  old  gentleman  arrived  at  New 
Amsterdam  in  the  merry  month  of  June,  the 
sweetest  month  in  all  the  year;  when  dan 
Apollo  seems  to  dance  up  the  transparent 
firmament, — when  the  robin,  the  thrush,  and  a 
thousand  other  wanton  songsters,  make  the 
woods  to  resound  with  amorous  ditties,  and 
the  luxurious  little  boblincon  revels  among-  the 
clover-blossoms  of  the  meadows, — all  which 
happy  coincidence  persuaded  the  old  dames  of 
New  Amsterdam,  who  were  skilled  in  the  art 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


of  foretelling   events,  that    this  was   to    be   a 
happy  and  prosperous  administration. 

The  renowned  Woutcr  (or  Walter)  Van  Twil- 
ler  was  descended  from  a  long  line  of  Dutch 
burgomasters,  who  had  successively  dozed  away 
their  lives,  and  grown  fat  upon  the  bench  of 
magistracy  in  Rotterdam  ;  and  who  had  com- 
ported themselves  with  such  singular  wisdom 
and  propriet}',  that  they  were  never  either 
heard  or  talked  of — which,  next  to  being  uni- 
versally applauded,  should  be  the  object  of 
ambition  of  all  magistrates  and  rulers.  There 
are  two  opposite  ways  by  which  some  men 
make  a  figure  in  the  world  ;  one,  by  talking 
faster  than  they  think,  and  the  other,  by  hold- 
ing their  tongues  and  not  thinking  at  all.  By 
the  first,  many  a  smattcrer  acquires  the  repu- 
tation of  a  man  of  quick  parts;  by  the  other, 
many  a  dundcrpate,  like  the  owl,  the  stupidest 
of  birds,  comes  to  be  considered  the  very  tj'pe 
of  wisdom.  This,  by  the  wa)-,  is  a  casual  re- 
mark, which  I  would  not,  for  the  universe, 
have  it  thought  I  apply  to  Governor  Van  Twil- 
ler.  It  is  true  he  was  a  man  shut  up  within 
himself,  like  an  oyster,  and  rarely  spoke,  ex- 
cept in  monosyllables  ;  but  then  it  was  allowed 
he  seldom  said  a  foolish  thing.     So  invincible 


WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER. 


was  his  gravity  that  he  was  never  known  to 
laugh  or  even  to  smile  through  the  whole 
course  of  a  long  and  prosperous  life.  Nay,  if 
a  joke  were  uttered  in  his  presence,  that  set 
light-minded  hearers  in  a  roar,  it  was  observed  to 
throw  him  into  a  state  of  perplexity.  Some- 
times he  would  deign  to  inquire  into  the  mat- 
ter, and  when,  after  much  explanation,  the 
joke  was  made  as  plain  as  a  pike-staff,  he 
would  continue  to  smoke  his  pipe  in  silence, 
and  at  length,  knocking  out  the  ashes,  would 
exclaim,  "  Well,  I  see  nothing  in  all  that  to 
laugh  about." 

With  all  his  reflective  habits,  he  never  made 
up  his  mind  on  a  subject.  His  adherents  ac- 
counted for  this  by  the  astonishing  magnitude 
of  his  ideas.  He  conceived  every  subject  on 
so  grand  a  scale  that  he  had  not  room  in  his 
head  to  turn  it  over  and  examine  both  sides  of 
it.  Certain  it  is,  that,  if  any  matter  were  pro- 
pounded to  him  on  which  ordinary  mortals 
would  rashly  determine  at  first  glance,  he  would 
put  on  a  vague,  mysterious  look,  shake  his  ca- 
pacious head,  smoke  some  time  in  profound 
silence,  and  at  length  observe,  that  "  he  had 
his  doubts  about  the  matter";  which  gained 
him  the  reputation  of  a  man  slow  of  belief  and 


ir.-l  SHIA'G  TON  IK  VING. 


not  easily  imposed  upon.  What  is  more,  it 
gained  him  a  lasting  name  ;  for  to  this  habit  of 
the  mind  has  been  attributed  his  surname  of 
Tvviller ;  which  is  said  to  be  a  corruption  of 
the  original  Twijfler,  or,  in  plain  English, 
Doubter. 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman 
was  formed  and  proportioned  as  though  it  had 
been  moulded  by  the  hands  of  some  cunning 
Dutch  statuary,  as  a  model  of  majesty  and 
lordly  grandeur.  He  was  exactly  five  feet  six 
inches  in  height,  and  six  feet  five  inches  in  cir- 
cumference. His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere, 
and  of  such  stupendous  dimensions,  that  Dame 
Nature,  with  all  her  sex's  ingenuity,  would 
have  been  puzzled  to  construct  a  neck  capable 
of  supporting  it  ;  wherefore  she  wisely  declined 
the  attempt,  and  settled  it  firmly  on  the  top  of 
his  backbone,  just  between  the  shoulders.  His 
body  was  oblong,  and  particularly  capacious  at 
bottom  ;  which  was  wisely  ordered  by  Provi- 
dence, seeing  that  he  was  a  man  of  sedentary 
habits,  and  very  averse  to  the  idle  labor  of 
walking.  His  legs  were  short,  but  sturdy  in 
proportion  to  the  weight  they  had  to  sustain  ; 
so  that  when  erect  he  had  not  a  little  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  beer  barrel  on  skids.       His  face, 


WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER.  5 

that  infallible  index  of  the  mind,  presented  a 
vast  expanse,  unfurrowed  by  those  lines  and 
angles  which  disfigure  the  human  counte- 
nance with  what  is  termed  expression.  Two 
small  gray  eyes  twinkled  feebly  in  the  midst, 
like  two  stars  of  lesser  magnitude  in  a  hazy 
firmament,  and  his  full-fed  cheeks,  which 
seemed  to  have  taken  toll  of  every  thing  that 
went  into  his  mouth,  were  curiously  mottled 
and  streaked  with  dusky  red,  like  a  spitzenberg 
apple. 

His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  person.  He 
daily  took  his  four  stated  meals,  appropriating 
exactly  an  hour  to  each  ;  he  smoked  and 
doubted  eight  hours,  and  he  slept  the  remain- 
ing twelve  of  the  four-and-twenty.  Such  was 
the  renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller, — a  true 
philosopher,  for  his  mind  was  either  elevated 
above,  or  tranquilly  settled  below,  the  cares  and 
perplexities  of  this  world.  He  had  lived  in  it 
for  years,  without  feeling  the  least  curiosity  to 
know  whether  the  sun  revolved  round  it,  or  it 
round  the  sun  ;  and  he  had  watched,  for  at  least 
half  a  century,  the  smoke  curling  from  his  pipe 
to  the  ceiling,  without  once  troubling  his  head 
with  any  of  those  numerous  theories  by  which 
a  philosopher  would  have  perplexed  his  brain, 


WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


in  accounting  for  its  rising  above  the  surround- 
ing atmosphere. 

In  his  council  he  presided  with  great  state 
and  solemnity.  He  sat  in  a  huge  chair  of  solid 
oak,  hewn  in  the  celebrated  forest  of  the  Hague, 
fabricated  by  an  experienced  timmerman  of 
Amsterdam,  and  curiously  carved  about  the 
arms  and  feet,  into  exact  imitations  of  gigantic 
eagle's  claws.  Instead  of  a  sceptre,  he  swayed 
a  long  Turkish  pipe,  wrought  with  jasmin  and 
amber,  which  had  been  presented  to  a  stadt- 
holder  of  Holland  at  the  conclusion  of  a  treaty 
with  one  of  the  petty  Barbary  powers.  In  this 
stately  chair  would  he  sit,  and  this  magnificent 
pipe  would  he  smoke,  shaking  his  right  knee 
with  a  constant  motion,  and  fixing  his  eye  for 
hours  together  upon  a  little  print  of  Amster- 
dam, which  hung  in  a  black  frame  against  the 
opposite  wall  of  the  council-chamber.  Nay,  it 
has  even  been  said,  that  when  any  deliberation 
of  extraordinary  length  and  intricacy  was  on 
the  carpet,  the  renowned  Wouter  would  shut 
his  eyes  for  full  two  hours  at  a  time,  that  he 
might  not  be  disturbed  by  external  objects; 
and  at  such  times  the  internal  commotion  of 
his  mind  was  evinced  by  certain  regular  gut- 
tural sounds,  which  his  admirers  declared  were 


WOUTER    VAN    TWILLER. 


merely  the  noise  of  conflict,  made  by  his  con- 
tending doubts  and  opinions. 

It  is  with  infinite  difficulty  I  have  been  ena- 
bled to  collect  these  biographical  anecdotes  of 
the  great  man  under  consideration.  The  facts 
respecting  him  were  so  scattered  and  vague, 
and  divers  of  them  so  questionable  in  point  of 
authenticity,  that  I  have  had  to  give  up  the 
search  after  many,  and  decline  the  admission  of 
still  more,  which  would  have  tended  to  heighten 
the  coloring  of  his  portrait. 

I  have  been  the  more  anxious  to  delineate 
fully  the  person  and  habits  of  Wouter  Van 
Twiller,  from  the  consideration  that  he  was 
not  only  the  first,  but  also  the  best  governor 
that  ever  presided  over  this  ancient  and  respect- 
able province ;  and  so  tranquil  and  benevolent 
was  his  reign,  that  I  do  not  find  throughout 
the  whole  of  it  a  single  instance  of  any  offender 
being  brought  to  punishment, — a  most  indubi- 
table sign  of  a  merciful  governor,  and  a  case 
unparalleled,  excepting  in  the  reign  of  the  illus- 
trious King  Log,  from  whom,  it  is  hinted,  the 
renowned  Van  Twiller  was  a  lineal  descendant. 

The  very  outset  of  the  career  of  this  excellent 
magistrate  was  distinguished  by  an  example  of 
legal  acumen,  that  gave  flattering  presage  of  a 


8  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


wise  and  equitable  administration.  The  morn- 
ing after  he  had  been  installed  in  office,  and  at 
the  moment  that  he  was  making  his  breakfast 
from  a  prodigious  earthen  dish,  filled  with  milk 
and  Indian  pudding,  he  was  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  Wandle  Schoonhoven,  a  very  im- 
portant old  burgher  of  New  Amsterdam,  who 
complained  bitterly  of  one  Barcnt  Bleecker, 
inasmuch  as  he  refused  to  come  to  a  settlement 
of  accounts,  seeing  that  there  was  a  heavy  bal- 
ance in  favor  of  the  said  Wandle.  Governor 
Van  Twiller,  as  I  have  already  observed,  was  a 
man  of  few  words;  he  was  likewise  a  mortal 
enemy  to  multiplying  writings — or  being  dis- 
turbed at  his  breakfast.  Having  listened  at- 
tentively to  the  statement  of  Wandle  Schoon- 
hoven, giving  an  occasional  grunt,  as  he  shov- 
elled a  spoonful  of  Indian  pudding  into  his 
mouth, — either  as  a  sign  that  he  relished  the 
dish,  or  comprehended  the  story, — he  called 
unto  him  his  constable,  and  pulling  out  of  his 
breeches  pocket  a  huge  jack-knife,  dispatched  it 
after  the  defendant  as  a  summons,  accompanied 
by  his  tobacco-box  as  a  warrant. 

This  summary  process  was  as  effectual  in 
those  simple  days  as  was  the  seal-ring  of  the 
great  Haroun  Alraschid  among  the  true  believ- 


W OUTER  VAN  TWILLER. 


ers.  The  two  parties  being  confronted  before 
him,  each  produced  a  book  of  accounts,  written 
in  a  language  and  character  that  would  have 
puzzled  any  but  a  High-Dutch  commentator, 
or  a  learned  decipherer  of  Egyptian  obelisks. 
The  sage  Wouter  took  them  one  after  the  other, 
and  having  poised  them  in  his  hands,  and  at- 
tentively counted  over  the  number  of  leaves, 
fell  straightway  into  a  very  great  doubt,  and 
smoked  for  half  an  hour  without  saying  a  word ; 
at  length,  laying  his  finger  beside  his  nose,  and 
shutting  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  has  just  caught  a  subtle  idea  by  the 
tail,  he  slowly  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
puffed  forth  a  column  of  tobacco-smoke,  and 
with  marvellous  gravity  and  solemnity  pro- 
nounced, that,  having  carefully  counted  over 
the  leaves  and  weighed  the  books,  it  was  found, 
that  one  was  just  as  thick  and  as  heavy  as  the 
other:  therefore,  it  was  the  final  opinion  of  the 
court  that  the  accounts  were  equally  balanced : 
therefore,  Wandle  should  give  Barent  a  receipt, 
and  Barent  should  give  Wandle  a  receipt,  and 
the  constable  should  pay  the  costs. 

This  decision,  being  straightway  made  known, 
diffused  general  joy  throughout  New  Amster- 
dam, for  the  people  immediately  perceived  that 


lO  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

they  had  a  very  wise  and  equitable  magistrate 
to  rule  over  them.  But  its  happiest  effect  was, 
that  not  another  lawsuit  took  place  throughout 
the  whole  of  his  administration  ;  and  the  office 
of  constable  fell  into  such  decay,  that  there 
was  not  one  of  those  losel  scouts  known  in  the 
province  for  many  years.  I  am  the  more  par- 
ticular in  dwelling  on  this  transaction,  not  only 
because  I  deem  it  one  of  the  most  sage  and 
righteous  judgments  on  record,  and  well  worthy 
the  attention  of  modern  magistrates,  but  be- 
cause it  was  a  miraculous  event  in  the  history 
of  the  renowned  Wouter — being  the  only  time 
he  was  ever  known  to  come  to  a  decision  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  life. 

WILHELMUS    KIEFT. 

As  some  sleek  ox,  sunk  in  the  rich  repose  of 
a  clover  field,  dozing  and  chewing  the  cud,  will 
bear  repeated  blows  before  it  raises  itself,  so  the 
province  of  Nieuw  Nederlandts,  having  waxed 
fat  under  the  drowsy  reign  of  the  Doubter, 
needed  cuffs  and  kicks  to  rouse  it  into  action. 
The  reader  will  now  witness  the  manner  in 
which  a  peaceful  community  advances  toward 
a  state  of  war  ;  which  is  apt  to  be  like  the  ap- 
proach  of  a  horse  to  a  drum,  with  much  pranc- 


WILHELMUS  KIEFT.  II 

ing  and  little  progress,  and  too  often  with  the 
wrong  end  foremost. 

Wilhelmus  Kieft,  who  in  1634  ascended  the 
gubernatorial  chair,  (to  borrow  a  favorite  though 
clumsy  appellation  of  modern  phraseologists,) 
was  of  a  lofty  descent,  his  father  being  inspector 
of  wind-mills  in  the  ancient  town  of  Saardam ; 
and  our  hero,  we  are  told,  when  a  boy,  made 
very  curious  investigations  into  the  nature  and 
operation  of  these  machines,  which  was  one 
reason  why  he  afterwards  came  to  be  so  ingen- 
ious a  governor.  His  name,  according  to  the 
most  authentic  etymologists,  was  a  corruption 
of  Kyver,  that  is  to  say,  a  wrangler  or  scolder, 
and  expressed  the  characteristic  of  his  family, 
which,  for  nearly  two  centuries,  have  kept  the 
windy  town  of  Saardam  in  hot  water,  and  pro- 
duced more  tartars  and  brimstones  than  any 
ten  families  in  the  place ;  and  so  truly  did  he 
inherit  this  family  peculiarity,  that  he  had 
not  been  a  year  in  the  government  of  the  prov- 
ince, before  he  was  universally  denominated 
William  the  Testy.  His  appearance  answered 
to  his  name.  He  was  a  brisk,  wiry,  waspish 
little  old  gentleman  ;  such  a  one  as  may  now 
and  then  be  seen  stumping  about  our  city  in  a 
broad-skirted  coat  with  huge  buttons,  a  cocked 


12  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

hat  Stuck  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  a  cane 
as  high  as  his  chin.  His  face  was  broad,  but 
his  features  were  sharp  ;  his  cheeks  were 
scorched  into  a  dusky  red  by  two  fiery  little 
gray  eyes,  his  nose  turned  up,  and  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  turned  down,  pretty  much  like 
the  muzzle  of  an  irritable  pug-dog. 

I  have  heard  it  observed  by  a  profound  adept 
in  human  physiolog)',  that  if  a  woman  waxes  fat 
with  the  progress  of  years,  her  tenure  of  life  is 
somewhat  precarious,  but  if  haply  she  withers 
as  she  grows  old,  she  lives  forever.  Such  prom- 
ised to  be  the  case  with  William  the  Testy, 
who  grew  tough  in  proportion  as  he  dried.  He 
had  withered,  in  fact,  not  through  the  process 
of  years,  but  through  the  tropical  fervor  of  his 
soul,  which  burnt  like  a  vehement  rush-light  in 
his  bosom,  inciting  him  to  incessant  broils  and 
bickerings.  Ancient  tradition  speaks  much  of 
his  learning,  and  of  the  gallant  inroads  he  had 
made  into  the  dead  languages,  in  which  he  had 
made  captive  a  host  of  Greek  nouns  and  Latin 
verbs,  and  brought  off  rich  booty  in  ancient 
saws  and  apothegms,  which  he  was  wont  to 
parade  in  his  public  harangues,  as  a  triumphant 
general  of  yore  his  spolia  opima.  Of  meta- 
physics he  knew  enough  to  confound  all  hearers 


WILHELMUS  KIEFT.  1 3 

and  himself  into  the  bargain.  In  logic,  he 
knew  the  whole  family  of  syllogisms  and  dilem- 
mas, and  was  so  proud  of  his  skill  that  he  never 
suffered  even  a  self-evident  fact  to  pass  un- 
argued. It  was  observed,  however,  that  he 
seldom  got  into  an  argument  without  getting 
into  a  perplexity,  and  then  into  a  passion  with 
his  adversary  for  not  being  convinced  gratis. 

He  had,  moreover,  skirmished  smartly  on  the 
frontiers  of  several  of  the  sciences,  was  fond  of 
experimental  philosophy,  and  prided  himself 
upon  inventions  of  all  kinds.  His  abode,  which 
he  had  fixed  at  a  Bowerie  or  country-seat  at  a 
short  distance  from  the  city,  just  at  what  is  now 
called  Dutch  Street,  soon  abounded  with  proofs 
of  his  ingenuity:  patent  smoke-jacks  that  re- 
quired a  horse  to  work  them  ;  Dutch  ovens  that 
roasted  meat  without  fire ;  carts  that  went  be- 
fore the  horses ;  weather-cocks  that  turned 
against  the  wind ;  and  other  wrong-headed 
contrivances  that  astonished  and  confounded 
all  beholders.  The  house,  too,  was  beset  with 
paralytic  cats  and  dogs,  the  subjects  of  his 
experimental  philosophy;  and  the  yelling  and 
yelping  of  the  latter  unhappy  victims  of  science, 
while  aiding  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  soon 
gained  for  the  place  the  name  of  "  Dog's  Misery," 


14  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

by  which  it  continues  to  be  known  even  at  the 
present  day. 

It  is  in  knowledge  as  in  swimming:  he  who 
flounders  and  splashes  on  the  surface  makes 
more  noise,  and  attracts  more  attention,  than 
the  pearl-diver  who  quietly  dives  in  quest  of 
treasures  to  the  bottom.  The  vast  acquire- 
ments of  the  new  governor  were  the  theme 
of  marvel  among  the  simple  burghers  of  New 
Amsterdam ;  he  figured  about  the  place  as 
learned  a  man  as  a  Bonze  at  Pekin,  who  had 
mastered  one  half  of  the  Chinese  alphabet, 
and  was  unanimously  pronounced  a  "  univer- 
sal genius! "... 

Thus  end  the  authenticated  chronicles  of  the 
reign  of  William  the  Testy;  for  henceforth,  in 
the  troubles,  perplexities,  and  confusion  of  the 
times,  he  seems  to  have  been  totally  over- 
looked,  and  to  have  slipped  forever  through 
the  fingers  of  scrupulous  history.     .     .     . 

It  is  true,  that  certain  of  the  early  provincial 
poets,  of  whom  there  were  great  numbers  in 
the  Nieuw  Nedcrlandts,  taking  advantage  of  his 
mysterious  exit,  have  fabled,  that,  like  Romu- 
lus, he  was  translated  to  the  skies,  and  forms  a 
very  fiery  little  star,  somewhere  on  the  left 
claw  of  the  Crab  ;  while  others,  equally  fanciful, 


WILHELMUS  KIEFT.  I  5 

declare  that  he  had  experienced  a  fate  similar 
to  that  of  the  good  king  Arthur,  who,  we  are 
assured  by  ancient  bards,  was  carried  away  to 
the  delicious  abodes  of  fairy-land,  where  he 
still  exists  in  pristine  worth  and  vigor,  and  will 
one  day  or  another  return  to  restore  the  gal- 
lantry, the  honor,  and  the  immaculate  probity, 
which  prevailed  in  the  glorious  days  of  the 
Round  Table. 

All  these,  however,  are  but  pleasing  fan- 
tasies, the  cobweb  visions  of  those  dreaming 
varlets,  the  poets,  to  which  I  would  not  have 
my  judicious  readers  attach  any  credibility. 
Neither  am  I  disposed  to  credit  an  ancient  and 
rather  apocryphal  historian,  who  asserts  that 
the  ingenious  Wilhelmus  was  annihilated  by 
the  blowing  down  of  one  of  his  wind-mills; 
nor  a  writer  of  latter  times,  who  af^rms  that  he 
fell  a  victim  to  an  experiment  in  natural  his- 
tory, having  the  misfortune  to  break  his  neck 
from  a  garret-window  of  the  stadthouse  in  at- 
tempting to  catch  swallows  by  sprinkling  salt 
upon  their  tails.  Still  less  do  I  put  my  faith 
in  the  tradition  that  he  perished  at  sea  in  con- 
veying home  to  Holland  a  treasure  of  golden 
ore,  discovered  somewhere  among  the  haunted 
regions  of  the  Catskill  mountains. 


1 6  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

The  most  probable  account  declares,  that, 
what  with  the  constant  troubles  on  his  fron- 
tiers, the  incessant  schemings  and  projects 
going  on  in  his  own  pericranium,  the  memori- 
als, petitions,  remonstrances,  and  sage  pieces 
of  advice  of  respectable  meetings  of  the  sov- 
ereign people,  and  the  refractory  disposition  of 
his  councillors,  who  were  sure  to  differ  from 
him  on  every  point,  and  uniformly  to  be  in  the 
wrong,  his  mind  was  kept  in  a  furnace-heat, 
until  he  became  as  completely  burnt  out  as  a 
Dutch  family-pipe  which  has  passed  through 
three  generations  of  hard  smokers.  In  this 
manner  did  he  undergo  a  kind  of  animal  com- 
bustion, consuming  away  like  a  farthing  rush- 
light ;  so  that  when  grim  death  finally  snuffed 
him  out,  there  was  scarce  left  enough  of  him 
to  bury. 

PETER   STUYVESANT. 

Peter  Stuyvesant  was  the  last,  and,  like  the 
renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  the  best  of  our 
ancient  Dutch  governors.  Wouter  having  sur- 
passed all  who  preceded  him,  and  Peter,  or 
Piet,  as  he  was  sociably  called  by  the  old 
Dutch  burghers,  who  were  ever  prone  to  famil- 
iarize names,    having   never    been  equalled  by 


PETER  STUYVESANT.  17 

any  successor.  He  was  in  fact  the  very  man 
fitted  by  nature  to  retrieve  the  desperate  for- 
tunes of  her  beloved  province,  had  not  the 
fates,  those  most  potent  and  unrelenting  of  all 
ancient  spinsters  destined  them  to  inextricable 
confusion. 

To  say  merely  that  he  was  a  hero,  would  be 
doing  him  great  injustice  ;  he  was  in  truth  a 
combination  of  heroes  ;  for  he  was  of  a  sturdy 
raw-boned  make,  like  Ajax  Telamon,  with  a 
pair  of  round  shoulders  that  Hercules  would 
have  given  his  hide  for  (meaning  his  lion's 
hide)  when  he  undertook  to  ease  old  Atlas  of 
his  load.  He  was,  moreover,  as  Plutarch  de- 
scribes Coriolanus,  not  only  terrible  for  the 
force  of  his  arm,  but  likewise  of  his  voice, 
which  sounded  as  though  it  came  out  of  a  bar- 
rel ;  and,  like  the  self-same  warrior,  he  pos- 
sessed a  sovereign  contempt  for  the  sovereign 
people,  and  an  iron  aspect,  which  was  enough 
of  itself  to  make  the  very  bowels  of  his  adver- 
saries quake  with  terror  and  dismay.  All  this 
martial  excellency  of  appearance  was  inex- 
pressibly heightened  by  an  accidental  advan- 
tage, with  which  I  am  surprised  that  neither 
Homer  nor  Virgil  have  graced  any  of  their 
heroes.     This  was  nothing  less  than  a  wooden 


I  8  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

leg,  which  was  the  only  prize  he  had  gained  in 
bravely  fighting  the  battles  of  his  country,  but 
of  which  he  was  so  proud,  that  he  was  often 
heard  to  declare  he  valued  it  more  than  all  his 
other  limbs  put  together;  indeed  so  highly  did 
he  esteem  it  that  he  had  it  gallantly  enchased 
and  relieved  with  silver  devices,  which  caused 
it  to  be  related  in  divers  histories  and  legends 
that  he  wore  a  silver  leg. 

ANTONY   VAN     CORLEAR. 

The  very  first  movements  of  the  great  Peter, 
on  taking  the  reins  of  government,  displayed 
his  magnanimity,  though  they  occasioned  not  a 
little  marvel  and  uneasiness  among  the  people 
of  the  Manhattoes.  Finding  himself  constantly 
interrupted  by  the  opposition,  and  annoyed  by 
the  advice  of  his  privy  council,  the  members  of 
which  had  acquired  the  unreasonable  habit  of 
thinking  and  speaking  for  themselves  during 
the  preceding  reign,  he  determined  at  once  to 
put  a  stop  to  such  grievous  abominations. 
Scarcely,  therefore,  had  he  entered  upon  his 
authority,  than  he  turned  out  of  office  all  the 
meddlesome  spirits  of  the  factious  cabinet  of 
William  the  Testy  ;  in  place  of  whom  he  chose 
unto  himself  counsellors  from  those  fat,  somnif- 


ANTONY  VAN  CORLEAR.  I9 

erous,  respectable  burghers  who  had  flourished 
and  slumbered  under  the  easy  reign  of  Walter 
the  Doubter.  All  these  he  caused  to  be  fur- 
nished with  abundance  of  fair  long  pipes,  and 
to  be  regaled  with  frequent  corporation  dinners, 
admonishing  them  to  smoke,  and  eat,  and  sleep 
for  the  good  of  the  nation,  while  he  took  the 
burden  of  government  upon  his  own  shoulders, 
— an  arrangement  to  which  they  all  gave  hearty 
acquiescence. 

Nor  did  he  stop  here,  but  made  a  hideous 
rout  among  the  inventions  and  expedients  of  his 
learned  predecessor, — rooting  up  his  patent  gal- 
lows, where  caitiff  vagabonds  were  suspended  by 
the  waistband, — demolishing  his  flag-staffs  and 
wind-mills,  which,  like  mighty  giants,  guarded 
the  ramparts  of  New  Amsterdam, — pitching 
to  the  duyvel  whole  batteries  of  quaker  guns, 
— and,  in  a  word,  turning  topsy-turvy  the 
whole  philosophic,  economic,  and  wind-mill 
system  of  the  immortal  sage  of  Saardam, 

The  honest  folk  of  New  Amsterdam  began  to 
quake  now  for  the  fate  of  their  matchless  cham- 
pion, Antony  the  Trumpeter,  who  had  acquired 
prodigious  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  women, 
by  means  of  his  whiskers  and  his  trumpet.  Him 
did  Peter  the  Headstrong  cause  to  be  brought 


20  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


into  his  presence,  and  eying  him  for  a  moment 
from  head  to  foot,  with  a  countenance  that 
would  have  appalled  any  thing  else  than  a 
sounder  of  brass, — "  Pr'ythee,  who  and  what 
art  thou  ?  "  said  he.  "Sire,"  replied  the  other, 
in  no  wise  dismayed,  "  for  my  name,  it  is  An- 
tony Van  Corlear ;  for  my  parentage,  I  am  the 
son  of  my  mother;  for  my  profession,  I  am 
champion  and  garrison  of  this  great  city  of  New 
Amsterdam."  "  I  doubt  me  much,"  said  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  "  that  thou  art  some  scurvy  cos- 
tard-monger knave.  How  didst  thou  acquire 
this  paramount  honor  and  dignity?  "  "  Marry, 
sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  like  many  a  great  man 
before  me,  ^\xx\^^\y  by  sounding  my  own  trujnpct." 
"Ay,  is  it  so?"  quoth  the  governor;  "why, 
then  let  us  have  a  relish  of  thy  art."  Where- 
upon the  good  Antony  put  his  instrument  to 
his  lips,  and  sounded  a  charge  with  such  a  tre- 
mendous outset,  such  a  delectable  quaver,  and 
such  a  triumphant  cadence,  that  it  was  enough 
to  make  one's  heart  leap  out  of  one's  mouth 
only  to  be  within  a  mile  of  it.  Like  as  a  war- 
worn charger,  grazing  in  peaceful  plains,  starts 
at  a  strain  of  martial  music,  pricks  up  his  ears, 
and  snorts,  and  paws,  and  kindles  at  the  noise, 
so  did  the  heroic  Peter  joy  to  hear  the  clangor 


GENERAL     VAN  POFFEN BURGH.  21 

of  the  trumpet ;  for  of  him  might  truly  be  said, 
what  was  recorded  of  the  renowned  St.  George 
of  England,  "  there  was  nothing  in  all  the  world 
that  more  rejoiced  his  heart  than  to  hear  the 
pleasant  sound  of  war,  and  see  the  soldiers 
brandish  forth  their  steeled  weapons."  Casting 
his  eye  more  kindly,  therefore,  upon  the  sturdy 
Van  Corlear,  and  finding  him  to  be  a  jovial 
varlet,  shrewd  in  his  discourse,  yet  of  great  dis- 
cretion and  immeasurable  wind,  he  straightway 
conceived  a  vast  kindness  for  him,  and  dis- 
charging him  from  the  troublesome  duty  of 
garrisoning,  defending,  and  alarming  the  city, 
ever  after  retained  him  about  his  person,  as  his 
chief  favorite,  confidential  envoy,  and  trusty 
squire.  Instead  of  disturbing  the  city  with  dis- 
astrous notes,  he  was  instructed  to  play  so  as  to 
delight  the  governor  while  at  his  repasts,  as  did 
the  minstrels  of  yore  in  the  days  of  the  glorious 
chivalry, — and  on  all  public  occasions  to  rejoice 
the  ears  of  the  people  with  warlike  melody, — 
thereby    keeping    alive   a  noble    and    martial 

spirit. 

GENERAL  VAN   POFFENBURGH. 

It  is  tropically  observed  by  honest  old  Soc- 
rates, that  heaven  infuses  into  some  men  at 
their  birth  a  portion  of  intellectual  gold,  into 


22  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

Others  of  intellectual  silver,  while  others  are  in- 
tellectually furnished  with  iron  and  brass.  Of 
the  last  class  was  General  Van  Poffenburgh  ; 
and  it  would  seem  as  if  dame  Nature,  who 
will  sometimes  be  partial,  had  given  him  brass 
enough  for  a  dozen  ordinary  braziers.  All  this 
he  had  contrived  to  pass  off  upon  William  the 
Testy  for  genuine  gold ;  and  the  little  governor 
would  sit  for  hours  and  listen  to  his  gunpowder 
stories  of  exploits,  which  left  those  of  Tirante 
the  White,  Don  Belianis  of  Greece,  or  St.  George 
and  the  Dragon  quite  in  the  background.  Hav- 
ing been  promoted  by  William  Kieft  to  the 
command  of  his  whole  disposable  forces,  he 
gave  importance  to  his  station  by  the  grandilo- 
quence of  his  bulletins,  always  styling  himself 
Commander-in-chief  of  the  Armies  of  the  New 
Netherlands,  though  in  sober  truth,  these  ar- 
mies were  nothing  more  than  a  handful  of  hen- 
stealing,  bottle-bruising  ragamuffins. 

In  person  he  was  not  very  tall,  but  exceed- 
ingly round  ;  neither  did  his  bulk  proceed  from 
his  being  fat,  but  wind)-,  being  blown  up  by  a 
prodigious  conviction  of  his  own  importance, 
until  he  resembled  one  of  those  bags  of  wind 
given  by  ^Eolus,  in  an  incredible  fit  of  gener- 
osity, to  that  vagabond  warrior  Ulysses.     His 


GENERAL   VAN  POFFENbURGH.  2% 

windy  endowments  had  long  excited  the  admi- 
ration of  Antony  Van  Corlear,  who  is  said  to 
have  hinted  more  than  once  to  WilHam  the 
Testy,  that  in  making  Van  Poffenburgh  a  gen- 
eral he  had  spoiled  an  admirable  trumpeter. 

As  it  is  the  practice  in  ancient  story  to  give 
the  reader  a  description  of  the  arms  and  equip- 
ments of  every  noted  warrior,  I  will  bestow  a 
word  upon  the  dress  of  this  redoubtable  com- 
mander. It  comported  with  his  character,  being 
so  crossed  and  slashed,  and  embroidered  with 
lace  and  tinsel,  that  he  seemed  to  have  as  much 
brass  without  as  nature  had  stored  away  within. 
He  was  swathed,  too,  in  a  crimson  sash,  of  the 
size  and  texture  of  a  fishing-net, —  doubtle--s  to 
keep  his  swelling  heart  from  bursting  through 
his  ribs.  His  face  glowed  with  furnace-heat 
from  between  a  huge  pair  of  well-powdered 
whiskers,  and  his  valorous  soul  seemed  ready  to 
bounce  out  of  a  pair  of  large,  glassy,  blinking 
eyes,  projecting  like  those  of  a  lobster. 

I  swear  to  thee,  worthy  reader,  if  history 
and  tradition  belie  not  this  warrior,  I  would 
give  all  the  money  in  my  pocket  to  have  seen 
him  accoutred  cap-a-pie, — booted  to  the  middle, 
sashed  to  the  chin,  collared  to  the  ears,  whisk- 
ered to  the  teeth,  crowned  with  an  overshadow- 


24  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

ing  cocked  hat,  and  girded  with  a  leathern  belt 
ten  inches  broad,  from  which  trailed  a  falchion, 
of  a  length  that  I  dare  not  mention.  Thus 
equipped,  he  strutted  about,  as  bitter-looking  a 
man  of  war  as  the  far-famed  More,  of  More- 
hall,  when  he  sallied  forth  to  slay  the  dragon  of 
Wantley.     For  what  says  the  ballad  ? 

"  Had  you  but  seen  him  in  this  dress, 

How  fierce  he  looked  and  how  big, 
You  would  have  thought  him  for  to  be 

Some  Egyptian  porcupig. 
He  frighted  all — cats,  dogs,  and  all, 

Each  cow,  each  horse,  and  each  hog  ; 
For  fear  they  did  flee,  for  they  took  him  to  be 

Some  strange  outlandish  hedgehog." 

— Knickerbocker  s  History  of  New  York. 


NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

(born,    1804 — DIED,   1864.) 


DR.    HEIDEGGER  S   EXPERIMENT. 

THAT  very  singular  man,  old  Dr.  Heideg- 
ger, once  invited  four  venerable  friends  to 
meet  him  in  his  study.  There  were  three  white- 
bearded  gentlemen,  Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel 
Killigrew,  and  Mr.  Gascoigne,  and  a  withered 
gentlewoman,  whose  name  was  the  Widow  Wy- 
cherly.  They  were  all  melancholy  old  creatures, 
who  had  been  unfortunate  in  life,  and  whose 
greatest  misfortune  it  was,  that  they  were  not 
long  ago  in  their  graves.  Mr.  Medbourne,  in  the 
vigor  of  his  age,  had  been  a  prosperous  mer- 
chant, but  had  lost  his  all  by  a  frantic  specula- 
tion, and  was  now  little  better  than  a  mendicant. 
Colonel  Killigrew  had  wasted  his  best  years,  and 
his  health  and  substance,  in  the  pursuit  of  sinful 
pleasures,  which  had  given  birth  to  a  brood  of 
pains,  such  as  the  gout,  and  divers  other  tor- 
ments of  soul  and  body.     Mr.  Gascoigne  was  a 

25 


26  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

ruined  politician,  a  man  of  evil  fame,  or  at  least 
had  been  so,  till  time  had  buried  him  from  the 
knowledge  of  the  present  generation,  and  made 
him  obscure  instead  of  infamous.  As  for  the 
Widow  Wycherly,  tradition  tells  us  that  she  was 
a  great  beauty  in  her  day;  but,  for  a  long  while 
past  she  had  lived  in  deep  seclusion,  on  account  of 
certain  scandalous  stories,  which  had  prejudiced 
the  gentry  of  the  town  against  her.  It  is  a  cir- 
cumstance worth  mentioning,  that  each  of  these 
three  old  gentlemen,  Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel 
Killigrcw,  and  Mr.  Gascoigne,  were  early  lovers 
of  the  Widow  Wycherly,  and  had  once  been  on 
the  point  of  cutting  each  other's  throats  for  her 
sake.  And,  before  proceeding  further,  I  will 
merely  hint  that  Dr.  Heidegger,  and  all  his 
four  guests  were  sometimes  thought  to  be  a 
little  beside  themselves  ;  as  is  not  unfrequently 
the  case  with  old  people,  when  worried  either 
by  present  troubles  or  woful  recollections. 

"  My  dear  old  friends,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger, 
motioning  them  to  be  seated,  "  I  am  desirous 
of  your  assistance  in  one  of  those  little  experi- 
ments with  which  I  amuse  myself  here  in  my 
study." 

If  all  stories  were  true,  Dr.  Heidegger's  study 
must  have  been  a  ver}'  curious  place.  It  was  a  dim. 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.  2/ 

old-fashioned  chamber,  festooned  with  cobwebs, 
and  besprinkled  with  antique  dust.  Around  the 
walls  stood  several  open  bookcases,  the  lower 
shelves  of  which  were  filled  with  rows  of  gigan- 
tic folios,  and  black-letter  quartos,  and  the 
upper  with  little  parchment-covered  duodeci- 
mos. Over  the  central  bookcase  was  a  bronze 
bust  of  Hippocrates,  with  which,  according  to 
some  authorities.  Dr.  Heidegger  was  accus- 
tomed to  hold  consultations,  in  all  difficult 
cases  of  his  practice.  In  the  obscurest  corner 
of  the  room  stood  a  tall  and  narrow  oaken 
closet,  with  its  door  ajar,  within  which  doubt- 
fully appeared  a  skeleton.  Between  two  of 
the  bookcases  hung  a  looking-glass  presenting 
its  high  and  dusty  plate  within  a  tarnished  gilt 
frame.  Among  many  wonderful  stories  related 
of  this  mirror,  it  was  fabled  that  the  spirits  of 
all  the  doctor's  deceased  patients  dwelt  within 
its  verge,  and  would  stare  him  in  the  face  when- 
ever he  looked  thitherward.  The  opposite  side 
of  the  chamber  was  ornamented  with  the  full- 
length  portrait  of  a  young  lady,  arrayed  in  the 
faded  magnificence  of  silk,  satin,  and  brocade, 
and  with  a  visage  as  faded  as  her  dress.  Above 
half  a  century  ago  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  on 
the  point  of  marriage  with  this  young  lady; 


28  NA  THANIEL   HA  IVTHORNE. 

but,  being  affected  with  some  slight  disorder, 
she  had  swallowed  one  of  her  lover's  prescrip- 
tions, and  died  on  the  bridal  evening.  The 
greatest  curiosity  of  the  study  remains  to  be 
mentioned  ;  it  was  a  ponderous  folio  volume, 
bound  in  black  leather,  with  massive  silver 
clasps.  There  were  no  letters  on  the  back, 
and  nobody  could  tell  the  title  of  the  book. 
But  it  was  well  known  to  be  a  book  of  magic ; 
and  once,  when  a  chambermaid  had  lifted  it, 
merely  to  brush  away  the  dust,  the  skeleton 
had  rattled  in  its  closet,  the  picture  of  the 
young  lady  had  stepped  one  foot  upon  the 
floor,  and  several  ghastly  faces  had  peeped 
forth  from  the  mirror;  while  the  brazen  head 
of  Hippocrates  frowned,  and  said — "  Forbear!  " 
Such  was  Dr.  Heidegger's  study.  On  the 
summer  afternoon  of  our  tale,  a  small  round 
table,  as  black  as  ebony,  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  sustaining  a  cut-glass  vase,  of  beauti- 
ful form  and  elaborate  workmanship.  The 
sunshine  came  through  the  window,  between 
the  heavy  festoons  of  two  faded  damask  cur- 
tains, and  fell  directly  across  this  vase  ;  so  that 
a  mild  splendor  was  reflected  from  it  on  the 
ashen  visages  of  the  five  old  people  who  sat 
around.  Four  champagne  glasses  were  also  on 
the  table. 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.  29 

"  My  dear  old  friends,"  repeated  Dr.  Heideg- 
ger, "  may  I  reckon  on  your  aid  in  performing 
an  exceedingly  curious  experiment  ?  " 

Now  Dr.  Heidegger  was  a  very  strange  old 
gentleman,  whose  eccentricity  had  become  the 
nucleus  for  a  thousand  fantastic  stories.  Some 
of  these  fables,  to  my  shame  be  it  spoken,  might 
possibly  be  traced  back  to  mine  own  veracious 
self ;  and  if  any  passages  of  the  present  tale 
should  startle  the  reader's  faith,  I  must  be  con- 
tent to  bear  the  stigma  of  a  fiction  monger. 

When  the  doctor's  four  guests  heard  him 
talk  of  his  proposed  experiment,  they  antici- 
pated nothing  more  wonderful  than  the  murder 
of  a  mouse  in  an  air-pump,  or  the  examination 
of  a  cobweb  by  the  microscope,  or  some  simi- 
lar nonsense,  with  which  he  was  constantly  in 
the  habit  of  pestering  his  intimates.  But  with- 
out waiting  for  a  reply.  Dr.  Heidegger  hobbled 
across  the  chamber,  and  returned  with  the  same 
ponderous  folio,  bound  in  black  leather,  which 
common  report  affirmed  to  be  a  book  of  magic. 
Undoing  the  silver  clasps,  he  opened  the  vol- 
ume, and  took  from  among  its  black-letter 
pages  a  rose,  or  what  was  once  a  rose,  though 
now  the  green  leaves  and  crimson  petals  had 
assumed  one  brownish  hue,  and   the   ancient 


30  NATrlANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

flower  seemed  ready  to  crumble  to  dust  in  the 
doctor's  hands. 

"This  rose,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  with  a  sigh, 
"  this  same  withered  and  crumbhng  flower, 
blossomed  five  and  fifty  years  ago.  It  was 
given  me  by  Sylvia  Ward,  whose  portrait  hangs 
yonder;  and  I  meant  to  wear  it  in  my  bosom 
at  our  wedding.  Five  and  fifty  years  it  has 
been  treasured  between  the  leaves  of  this  old 
volume.  Now  would  you  deem  it  possible  that 
this  rose  of  half  a  century  could  ever  bloom 
again  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  the  Widow  Wycherly, 
with  a  peevish  toss  of  her  head.  "You  might 
as  well  ask  whether  an  old  woman's  wrinkled 
face  could  ever  bloom  again." 

"  See  !  "  answered  Dr.  Heidegger. 

He  uncovered  the  vase,  and  threw  the  faded 
rose  into  the  water  which  it  contained.  At 
first  it  lay  lightly  on  the  surface  of  the  fluid, 
appearing  to  imbibe  none  of  its  moisture. 
Soon,  however,  a  singular  change  began  to  be 
visible.  The  crushed  and  dried  petals  stirred, 
and  assumed  a  deepening  tinge  of  crimson,  as 
if  the  flower  were  reviving  from  a  death-like 
slumber;  the  slender  stalks  and  twigs  of  foliage 
became  green  ;  and  there  was  the  rose  of  half  a 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.  3 1 

century,  looking  as  fresh  as  when  Sylvia  Ward 
had  first  given  it  to  her  lover.  It  was  scarcely 
full  blown  ;  for  some  of  its  delicate  red  leaves 
curled  modestly  around  its  moist  bosom,  within 
which  two  or  three  dewdrops  were  sparkling. 

"  That  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  deception," 
said  the  doctor's  friends;  carelessly,  however, 
for  they  had  witnessed  greater  miracles  at  a 
conjuror's  show ;  "  pray,  how  was  it  effec- 
ted ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  *  Fountain  of 
Youth,'"  asked  Dr.  Heidegger,  "which  Ponce 
De  Leon,  the  Spanish  adventurer,  went  in 
search  of  two  or  three  centuries  ago  ?  " 

"  But  did  Ponce  De  Leon  ever  find  it?  "  said 
the  Widow  Wycherly. 

"  No,"  answered  Dr.  Heidegger,  "  for  he 
never  sought  it  in  the  right  place.  The  famous 
Fountain  of  Youth,  if  I  am  rightly  informed,  is 
situated  in  the  southern  part  of  the  Floridian 
peninsula,  not  far  from  Lake  Macaco.  Its 
source  is  overshadowed  by  several  gigantic 
magnolias,  which,  though  numberless  centuries 
old,  have  been  kept  as  fresh  as  violets,  by  the 
virtues  of  this  wonderful  water.  An  acquaint- 
ance of  mine,  knowing  my  curiosity  in  such 
matters,  has  sent  me  what  you  see  in  the  vase." 


32  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

"  Ahem  ! "  said  Colonel  Killigrew,  who  be- 
lieved  not  a  word  of  the  doctor's  story  ;  "  and 
what  may  be  the  effect  of  this  fluid  on  the 
human  frame?  " 

"You  shall  judge  for  yourself,  my  dear  Colo- 
nel," replied  Dr.  Heidegger;  "and  all  of  you, 
my  respected  friends,  are  welcome  to  so  much 
of  this  admirable  fluid  as  may  restore  to  you 
the  bloom  of  youth.  For  my  own  part,  having 
had  much  trouble  in  growing  old,  I  am  in  no 
hurry  to  grow  young  again.  With  your  per- 
mission, therefore,  I  will  merely  watch  the 
progress  of  the  experiment." 

While  he  spoke,  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  fill- 
ing the  four  champagne  glasses  with  the  water 
of  the  Fountain  of  Youth.  It  was  apparently 
impregnated  with  an  effervescent  gas,  for  little 
bubbles  were  continually  ascending  from  the 
depths  of  the  glasses,  and  bursting  in  silvery 
spray  at  the  surface.  As  the  liquor  diffused  a 
pleasant  perfume,  the  old  people  doubted  not 
that  it  possessed  cordial  and  comfortable  prop- 
erties; and,  though  utter  sceptics  as  to  its  re- 
juvenescent power,  they  were  inclined  to 
swallow  it  at  once.  But  Dr.  Heidegger  be- 
sought them  to  stay  a  moment. 

"  Before     you     drink,    my    respectable    old 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.  33 

friends,"  said  he,  "  it  would  be  well  that,  with 
the  experience  of  a  lifetime  to  direct  you,  you 
should  draw  up  a  few  general  rules  for  your 
guidance,  in  passing  a  second  time  through  the 
perils  of  youth.  Think  what  a  sin  and  shame 
it  would  be,  if,  with  your  peculiar  advantages, 
you  should  not  become  patterns  of  virtue  and 
wisdom  to  all  the  young  people  of  the  age !  " 

The  doctor's  four  venerable  friends  made  him 
no  answer,  except  by  a  feeble  and  tremulous 
laugh ;  so  very  ridiculous  was  the  idea,  that, 
knowing  how  closely  repentance  treads  behind 
the  steps  of  error,  they  should  ever  go  astray 
again. 

"  Drink,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  bowing ;  "  I 
rejoice  that  I  have  so  well  selected  the  subjects 
of  my  experiment." 

With  palsied  hands,  they  raised  the  glasses  to 
their  lips.  The  liquor,  if  it  really  possessed 
such  virtues  as  Dr.  Heidegger  imputed  to  it, 
could  not  have  been  bestowed  on  four  human 
beings  who  needed  it  more  wofully.  They 
looked  as  if  they  had  never  known  what  youth 
or  pleasure  was,  but  had  been  the  offspring  of 
Nature's  dotage,  and  always  the  gray,  decrepit, 
sapless,  miserable  creatures,  who  now  sat  stoop- 
ing   around    the   doctor's   table,   without    life 


34  NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE. 


enough  in  their  souls  or  bodies  to  be  animated 
even  by  the  prospect  of  growing  young  again. 
They  drank  off  the  water,  and  replaced  their 
glasses  on  the  table. 

Assuredly  there  was  an  almost  immediate 
improvement  in  the  aspect  of  the  party,  not 
unlike  what  might  have  been  produced  by  a 
glass  of  generous  wine  together  with  a  sudden 
glow  of  cheerful  sunshine  brightening  over  all 
their  visages  at  once.  There  was  a  healthful 
suffusion  on  their  cheeks,  instead  of  the  ashen 
hue  that  had  made  them  look  so  corpse-like. 
They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fancied  that 
some  magic  power  had  really  begun  to  smooth 
away  the  deep  and  sad  inscriptions  which 
Father  Time  had  been  so  long  engraving  on 
their  brows.  The  Widow  Wychcrly  adjusted 
her  cap,  for  she  felt  almost  like  a  woman  again. 

"  Give  us  more  of  this  wondrous  water  !  " 
cried  they,  eagerly.  "  We  are  younger — but 
we  are  still  too  old.     Quick — give  us  more  !  " 

"  Patience,  patience  !  "  quoth  Dr.  Heidegger, 
who  sat  watching  the  experiment,  with  philo- 
sophic coolness.  "You  have  been  a  long  time 
growing  old.  Surely,  you  might  be  content  to 
grow  young  in  half  an  hour  !  But  the  water  is 
at  your  service." 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.  35 

Again  he  filled  their  glasses  with  the  liquor 
of  youth,  enough  of  which  still  remained  in  the 
vase  to  turn  half  the  old  people  in  the  city  to 
the  age  of  their  own  grandchildren.  While  the 
bubbles  were  yet  sparkling  on  the  brim,  the 
doctor's  four  guests  snatched  their  glasses  from 
the  table,  and  swallowed  the  contents  at  a  sinele 

o 

gulp.  Was  it  delusion  ?  even  while  the  draught 
was  passing  down  their  throats,  it  seemed  to 
have  wrought  a  change  on  their  whole  systems. 
Their  eyes  grew  clear  and  bright ;  a  dark  shade 
deepened  among  their  silvery  locks ;  they  sat 
around  the  table,  three  gentlemen  of  middle 
age,  and  a  woman  hardly  beyond  her  buxom 
prime. 

"  My  dear  widow,  you  are  charming !  "  cried 
Colonel  Killigrew,  whose  eyes  had  been  fixed 
upon  her  face,  while  the  shadows  of  age  were 
flitting  from  it  like  darkness  from  the  crimson 
daybreak. 

The  fair  widow  knew,  of  old,  that  Colonel 
Killigrew's  compliments  were  not  always  meas- 
ured by  sober  truth  ;  so  she  started  up  and  ran 
to  the  mirror,  still  dreading  that  the  ugly  visage 
of  an  old  woman  would  meet  her  gaze.  Mean- 
while, the  three  gentlemen  behaved  in  such 
manner,  as  proved  that  the  water  of  the  Foun- 


36  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

tain  of  Youth  possessed  some  intoxicating 
qualities ;  unless,  indeed,  their  exhilaration  of 
spirits  were  merely  a  lightsome  dizziness, 
caused  by  the  sudden  removal  of  the  weight 
of  years.  Mr,  Gascoigne's  mind  seemed  to  run 
on  political  topics,  but  whether  relating  to  the 
past,  present,  or  future,  could  not  easily  be  de- 
termined, since  the  same  ideas  and  phrases  have 
been  in  vogue  these  fifty  years.  Now  he  rattled 
forth  full-throated  sentences  about  patriotism, 
national  glory,  and  the  people's  right ;  now  he 
muttered  some  perilous  stuff  or  other,  in  a  sly 
and  doubtful  whisper,  so  cautiously  that  even 
his  own  conscience  could  scarcely  catch  the 
secret ;  and  now,  again,  he  spoke  in  measured 
accents,  and  a  deeply  deferential  tone,  as  if  a 
royal  car  were  listening  to  his  well-turned 
periods.  Colonel  Killigrcw  all  this  time  had 
been  trolling  forth  a  joll}-  bottle  song,  and 
ringing  his  glass  in  symphony  with  the  chorus, 
while  his  eyes  wandered  toward  the  buxom 
figure  of  the  Widow  Wycherly.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  Mr.  Medbourne  was  involved 
in  a  calculation  of  dollars  and  cents,  with  which 
was  strangely  intermingled  a  project  for  sup- 
plying the  East  Indies  with  ice,  by  harnessing  a 
team  of  whales  to  the  polar  icebergs. 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.  37 

As  for  the  Widow  Wycherly,  she  stood  be- 
fore the  mirror  courtesying  and  simpering  to 
her  own  image,  and  greeting  it  as  the  friend 
whom  she  loved  better  than  all  the  world  be- 
side. She  thrust  her  face  close  to  the  glass, 
to  see  whether  some  long-remembered  wrinkle 
or  crow's  foot  had  indeed  vanished.  She  ex- 
amined whether  the  snow  had  so  entirely  melted 
from  her  hair,  that  the  venerable  cap  could  be 
safely  thrown  aside.  At  last,  turning  briskly 
away,  she  came  with  a  sort  of  dancing  step  to 
the  table. 

"  My  dear  old  doctor,"  cried  she,  "  pray  favor 
me  with  another  glass  !  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  madam,  certainly !  "  re- 
plied the  complaisant  doctor  ;  "  see  !  I  have 
already  filled  the  glasses." 

There,  in  fact,  stood  the  four  glasses,  brimful 
of  this  wonderful  water,  the  delicate  spray  of 
which,  as  it  effervesced  from  the  surface,  re- 
sembled the  tremulous  glitter  of  diamonds. 
It  was  now  so  nearly  sunset,  that  the  chamber 
iiad  grown  duskier  than  ever ;  but  a  mild  and 
moonlight  splendor  gleamed  from  within  the 
vase,  and  rested  alike  on  the  four  guests, 
and  on  the  doctor's  venerable  figure.  He  sat 
in  a  high-backed,  elaborately  carved  oaken  arm- 


38  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

chair,  with  a  gray  dignity  of  aspect  that  might 
have  well  befitted  that  very  Father  Time 
whose  power  had  never  been  disputed,  save  by 
this  fortunate  company.  Even  while  quaffing 
the  third  draught  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth 
they  were  almost  awed  by  the  expression  of  his 
mysterious  visage. 

But,  the  next  moment,  the  exhilarating  gush 
of  young  life  shot  through  their  veins.  They 
were  now  in  the  happy  prime  of  youth.  Age, 
with  its  miserable  train  of  cares,  and  sorrows, 
and  diseases,  was  remembered  only  as  the 
trouble  of  a  dream,  from  which  they  had  joy- 
ously awoke.  The  fresh  gloss  of  the  soul,  so 
early  lost,  and  without  which  the  world's  suc- 
cessive scenes  had  been  but  a  gallery  of  faded 
pictures,  again  threw  its  enchantment  over  all 
their  prospects.  They  felt  like  new-created 
beings,  in  a  new-created  universe. 

"We  are  young!  We  are  young!"  they 
cried  exultingly. 

Youth,  hke  the  extremity  of  age,  had  effaced 
the  strongly  marked  characteristics  of  middle 
hfe,  and  mutually  assimilated  them  all.  They 
were  a  group  of  merry  youngsters,  almost  mad- 
dened with  the  exuberant  frolicsomeness  of 
their  years.     The  most  singular  effect  of  their 


DR.  HEIDEGGER  'S  EXPERIMENT.  39 

gayety  was  an  impulse  to  mock  the  infirmity 
and  decrepitude  of  which  they  had  so  lately 
been  the  victims.  They  laughed  loudly  at 
their  old-fashioned  attire,  the  wide-skirted 
coats  and  flapped  waistcoats  of  the  young 
men,  and  the  ancient  cap  and  gown  of  the 
blooming  girl.  One  limped  across  the  floor 
like  a  gouty  grandfather ;  one  set  a  pair  of 
spectacles  astride  of  his  nose,  and  pretended  to 
pore  over  the  black-letter  pages  of  the  book  of 
magic ;  a  third  seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair, 
and  strove  to  imitate  the  venerable  dignity  of 
Dr.  Heidegger.  Then  all  shouted  mirthfully 
and  leaped  about  the  room.  The  Widow 
Wycherly — if  so  fresh  a  damsel  could  be  called 
a  widow — tripped  up  to  the  doctor's  chair,  with 
a  mischievous  merriment  in  her  rosy  face. 

"  Doctor,  you  dear  old  soul,"  cried  she,  "  get 
up  and  dance  with  me  !  "  And  then  the  four 
young  people  laughed  louder  than  ever,  to 
think  what  a  queer  figure  the  poor  old  doctor 
would  cut. 

"  Pray  excuse  me,"  answered  the  doctor, 
quietly.  "  I  am  old  and  rheumatic,  and  my 
dancing  days  were  over  long  ago.  But  either 
of  these  gay  young  gentlemen  will  be  glad  of 
so  pretty  a  partner." 


40  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

"  Dance  with  me,  Clara,"  cried  Colonel  Killi- 
grew. 

"  No,  no,  I  will  be  her  partner  !  "  shouted 
Mr.  Gascoigne. 

"  She  promised  me  her  hand  fifty  years 
ago  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Medbourne. 

They  all  gathered  round  her.  One  caught 
both  her  hands  in  his  passionate  grasp — another 
threw  his  arms  about  her  waist — the  third  buried 
his  hand  among  the  glossy  curls  that  clustered 
beneath  the  widow's  cap.  Blushing,  panting, 
struggling,chiding,  laughing,  her  warm  breath  fan- 
ning each  of  their  faces  by  turns,  she  strove  to  dis- 
engage herself,  yet  still  remained  in  their  triple 
embrace.  Never  was  there  a  livelier  picture  of 
youthful  rivalship,  with  bewitching  beauty  for 
the  prize.  Yet,  by  a  strange  deception,  owing 
to  the  duskiness  of  the  chamber,  and  the  antique 
dresses  which  they  still  wore,  the  tall  mirror  is 
said  to  have  reflected  the  figures  of  the  three  old, 
gra)-,witheredgrandsires,  ridiculously  contending 
for  the  skinny  ugliness  of  a  shrivelled  grandam. 

But  they  were  young:  their  burning  passions 
proved  them  so.  Inflamed  to  madness  by  the 
coquetry  of  the  girl-widow,  who  neither  granted 
nor  quite  withheld  her  favors,  the  three  rivals 
began  to  interchange  threatening  glances.   Still 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT.  4 1 

keeping  hold  of  the  fair  prize,  they  grappled 
fiercely  at  one  another's  throats.  As  they 
struggled  to  and  fro,  the  table  was  overturned, 
and  the  vase  dashed  into  a  thousand  fragments. 
The  precious  Water  of  Youth  flowed  in  a  bright 
stream  across  the  floor,  moistening  the  wings  of 
a  butterfly,  which,  grown  old  in  the  decline  of 
summer,  had  alighted  there  to  die.  The  insect 
fluttered  lightly  through  the  chamber,  and  set- 
tled on  the  snowy  head  of  Dr.  Heidegger. 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen  ! — come,  Madam 
Wycherly,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "  I  really 
must  protest  against  this  riot." 

They  stood  still,  and  shivered  ;  for  it  seemed 
as  if  gray  Time  were  calling  them  back  from 
their  sunny  youth,  far  down  into  the  chill  and 
darksome  vale  of  years.  They  looked  at  old 
Dr.  Heidegger,  who  sat  in  his  carved  arm-chair, 
holding  the  rose  of  half  a  century,  which  he  had 
rescued  from  among  the  fragments  of  the  shat- 
tered vase.  At  the  motion  of  his  hand,  the 
four  rioters  resumed  their  seats ;  the  more 
readily,  because  their  violent  exertions  had 
wearied  them,  youthful  though  they  were. 

"  My  poor  Sylvia's  rose  !  "  ejaculated  Dr. 
Heidegger,  holding  it  to  the  light  of  the  sun- 
set clouds  ;  "  it  appears  to  be  fading  again." 


42  NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE. 

And  so  it  was.  Even  while  the  party  were 
looking  at  it,  the  flower  continued  to  shrivel  up, 
till  it  became  as  dry  and  fragile  as  when  the 
doctor  had  first  thrown  it  into  the  vase.  He 
shook  off  the  few  drops  of  moisture  which  clung 
to  its  petals. 

"  I  love  it  as  well  thus,  as  in  its  dewy  fresh- 
ness," observed  he,  pressing  the  withered  rose 
to  his  withered  lips.  While  he  spoke,  the  but- 
terfly fluttered  down  from  the  doctor's  snowy 
head,  and  fell  upon  the  floor. 

His  guests  shivered  again.  A  strange  chilli- 
ness, whether  of  the  body  or  spirit  they  could 
not  tell,  was  creeping  gradually  over  them  all. 
They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fancied  that 
each  fleeting  moment  snatched  away  a  charm, 
and  left  a  deepening  furrow  where  none  had 
been  before.  Was  it  an  illusion  ?  Had  the 
changes  of  a  lifetime  been  crowded  into  so  brief 
a  space,  and  were  they  now  four  aged  people, 
sitting  with  their  old  friend.  Dr.  Heidegger  ? 

"  Are  we  grown  old  again  so  soon?"  cried 
they,  dolefully. 

In  truth,  they  had.  The  Water  of  Youth 
possessed  merely  a  virtue  more  transient  than 
that  of  wine.  The  delirium  which  it  created 
had    effervesced  away.      Yes !    they    were    old 


THE  BRITISH  MATRON.  43 

again.  With  a  shuddering  impulse,  that 
showed  her  a  woman  still,  the  widow  clasped 
her  skinny  hands  before  her  face,  and  wished 
that  the  cofifin-lid  were  over  it,  since  it  could  be 
no  longer  beautiful. 

"  Yes,  friends,  ye  are  old  again,"  said  Dr. 
Heidegger,  "  and  lo  !  the  Water  of  Youth  is  all 
lavished  on  the  ground.  Well — I  bemoan  it 
not ;  for  if  the  fountain  gushed  at  my  very  door- 
step, I  would  not  stoop  to  bathe  my  lips  in  it — 
no,  though  its  delirium  were  for  years  instead 
of  moments.  Such  is  the  lesson  you  have 
taught  me  !  " 

But  the  doctor's  four  friends  had  taught  no 
such  lesson  to  themselves.  They  resolved 
forthwith  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  Florida, 
and  quaff  at  morning,  noon,  and  night,  from 
the  Fountain  of  Youth. 

—  Twice-  Told  Tales. 

THE   BRITISH    MATRON. 

I  have  heard  a  good  deal  of  the  tenacity 
with  which  English  ladies  retain  their  personal 
beauty  to  a  late  period  of  life ;  but  (not  to  sug- 
gest that  an  American  eye  needs  use  and  culti- 
vation, before  it  can  quite  appreciate  the  charm 
of  English  beauty  at  any  age)  it  strikes  me  that 


44  XATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 

an  English  lady  of  fifty  is  apt  to  become  a 
creature  less  refined  and  delicate,  so  far  as  her 
physique  goes,  than  any  thing  that  we  Western 
people  class  under  the  name  of  woman.  She 
has  an  awful  ponderosity  of  frame,  not  pulpy, 
like  the  looser  development  of  our  few  fat 
women,  but  massive  with  solid  beef  and  streaky 
tallow ;  so  that  (though  struggling  manfully 
against  the  idea)  you  inevitably  think  of  her  as 
made  up  of  steaks  and  sirloins.  When  she 
walks,  her  advance  is  elephantine.  When  she 
sits  down  it  is  on  a  great  round  space  of  her 
Maker's  footstool,  where  she  looks  as  if  nothing 
could  ever  move  her.  She  imposes  awe  and 
respect  by  the  muchness  of  her  personality,  to 
such  a  degree  that  you  probably  credit  her  with 
far  greater  moral  and  intellectual  force  than  she 
can  fairly  claim.  Her  visage  is  usually  grim 
and  stern,  seldom  positively  forbidding,  yet 
calmly  terrible,  not  merely  by  its  breadth  and 
weight  of  feature,  but  because  it  seems  to  ex- 
press so  much  well-defined  self-reliance,  such 
acquaintance  with  the  world,  its  toils,  troubles, 
and  dangers,  and  such  sturdy  capacity  for 
trampling  down  a  foe.  Without  any  thing 
positively  salient,  or  actively  offensive,  or,  in- 
deed, unjustly  formidable  to  her  neighbors,  she 


THE  BRITISH  MA  TRON.  45 

has  the  effect  of  a  seventy-four  gun-ship  in  time 
of  peace ;  for,  while  you  assure  yourself  that 
there  is  no  real  danger,  you  cannot  help  think- 
ing how  tremendous  would  be  her  onset,  if 
pugnaciously  inclined,  and  how  futile  the  effort 
to  inflict  any  counter-injury.  She  certainly 
looks  tenfold — nay,  a  hundred-fold — better  able 
to  take  care  of  herself  than  our  slender-framed 
and  haggard  womankind  ;  but  I  have  not  found 
reason  to  suppose  that  the  English  dowager  of 
fifty  has  actually  greater  courage,  fortitude,  and 
strength  of  character  than  our  women  of  similar 
age,  or  even  a  tougher  physical  endurance  than 
they.  Morally,  she  is  strong,  I  suspect,  only  in 
society,  and  in  the  common  routine  of  social 
affairs,  and  would  be  found  powerless  and  timid 
in  any  exceptional  strait  that  might  call  for 
energy  outside  of  the  conventionalities  amid 
which  she  has  grown  up. 

You  can  meet  this  figure  in  the  street,  and 
live,  and  even  smile  at  the  recollection.  But 
conceive  of  her  in  a  ball-room,  with  the  bare, 
brawny  arms  that  she  invariably  displays  there, 
and  all  the  other  corresponding  development, 
such  as  is  beautiful  in  the  maiden  blossom,  but 
a  spectacle  to  howl  at  in  such  an  over-blown 
cabbage-rose  as  this. 


46  XATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE. 

Yet,  somewhere  in  this  enormous  bulk  there 
must  be  hidden  the  modest,  slender,  violet- 
nature  of  a  girl,  whom  an  alien  mass  of  earthli- 
ness  has  unkindly  overgrown  ;  for  an  English 
maiden  in  her  teens,  though  very  seldom  so 
pretty  as  our  own  damsels,  possesses,  to  say 
the  truth,  a  certain  charm  of  half-blossom,  and 
delicately  folded  leaves,  and  tender  woman- 
hood, shielded  by  maidenly  reserves,  with 
which,  somehow  or  other,  our  American  girls 
often  fail  to  adorn  themselves  during  an  appre- 
ciable moment.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  English 
violet  should  grow  into  such  an  outrageously 
developed  peony  as  I  have  attempted  to  de- 
scribe. I  wonder  whether  a  middle-aged  hus- 
band ought  to  be  considered  as  legally  married 
to  all  the  accretions  that  have  overgrown  the 
slenderness  of  liis  bride,  since  he  led  her  to  the 
altar,  and  which  make  licr  so  much  more  than 
he  ever  bargained  for !  Is  it  not  a  sounder 
view  of  tlic  case,  that  the  matrimonial  bond 
cannot  be  held  to  include  the  three  fourths  of 
the  wife  that  had  no  existence  when  the  cere- 
mony was  performed  ?  And  as  a  matter  of 
conscience  and  good  morals,  ought  not  an 
English  married  pair  to  insist  upon  the  cele- 
bration  of    a    Silver  Wedding    at    the    end   of 


THE  BRITISH  MATRON.  47 

twenty-five  years  in  order  to  legalize  and 
mutually  appropriate  that  corporeal  growth  of 
which  both  parties  have  individually  come  into 
possession  since  they  were  pronounced  one 
flesh  ? — Our  Old  Home. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

(born.   iS07 — DIED,  1882.) 


A   WRAITH    IN   THE   MIST. 

"  Sir,  I  should  build  me  a  fortification,    if  I   came  to  live 
here." — BoswEU-'s  Johnson. 

ON  the  green  little  isle  of  Inchkcnncth, 
Who  is  it  that  walks  by  the  shore, 
So  gay  with  his  Highland  blue  bonnet, 
So  brave  with  his  targe  and  claymore  ? 

His  form  is  the  form  of  a  giant. 

But  his  face  wears  an  aspect  of  pain  ; 

Can  this  be  the  Laird  of  Inchkenneth  ? 
Can  this  be  Sir  Allan  McLean  ? 

Ah,  no!     It  is  only  the  Rambler, 
The  Idler,  who  lives  in  Bolt  Court, 

And  who  says,  were  he  Laird  of  Inchkenneth, 
He  would  wall  himself  round  with  a  fort. 

— Birds  of  Passage. 


EDMUND  QUINCY. 

(born,    1808 — DIED,   1877.) 


WHO    PAID   FOR   THE   PRIMA  DONNA? 


IF  any  thing  could  make  a  man  forgive 
himself  for  being  sixty  years  old,"  said 
the  Consul,  holding  up  his  wineglass  between 
his  eye  and  the  setting  sun, — for  it  was  sum- 
mer-time,— "  it  would  be  that  he  can  remem- 
ber Malibran  in  her  divine  sixteenity  at  the 
Park  Theatre,  thirty  odd  years  ago.  Egad,  sir, 
one  could  n't  help  making  great  allowances 
for  Don  Giovanni,  after  seeing  her  in  Zerlina. 
She  was  beyond  imagination  piqnante  and  de- 
licious." 

The  Consul,  as  my  readers  may  have  partly 
inferred,  was  not  a  Roman  Consul,  nor  yet  a 
French  one.  He  had  had  the  honor  of  repre- 
senting this  great  republic  at  one  of  the  Hanse 
towns,  I  forget  which,  in  President  Monroe's 
time.     I  don't  recollect  how  long  he  held  the 

49 


50  EDMUND   QUINCY. 

office  ;  but  it  was  long  enough  to  make  the 
title  stick  to  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life  with 
the  tenacity  of  a  militia  colonelcy  or  village 
diaconate.  The  country  people  round  about 
used  to  call  him  "  the  Counsel^'  which,  I  be- 
lieve,— for  I  am  not  very  fresh  from  my  school- 
books, — was  etymologically  correct  enough, 
however  orthocpically  erroneous.  He  had  not 
limited  his  European  life,  however,  within  the 
precinct  of  his  Hanseatic  consulship,  but  had 
dispersed  himself  very  promiscuously  over  the 
Continent,  and  had  seen  many  cities,  and  the 
manners  of  many  men  and  of  some  women, — 
singing-women,  I  mean, — in  their  public  char- 
acter; for  the  Consul,  correct  of  life  as  of  ear, 
never  sought  to  undeify  his  divinities  by  pur- 
suing them  from  the  heaven  of  the  stage  to 
the  purgatorial  intermediacy  of  the  coulisses, 
still  less  to  the  lower  depth  of  disenchantment 
into  which  too  many  of  them  sunk  in  their  pri- 
vate life. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have  seen  and 
heard  them  all, — Catalani,  Pasta,  Pezzaroni, 
Grisi,  and  all  the  rest  of  them,  even  Sonntag, 
though  not  in  her  very  best  estate  ;  but  I  give 
you  my  word  there  is  none  that  has  taken 
lodgings  here,"  tapping  his  forehead,  "  so  per- 


fVJIO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA    DONNA  ?      5  I 

manently  as  the  Signorina  Garcia,  or  that  I  can 
see  and  hear  so  distinctly  when  I  am  in  the 
mood  of  it  by  myself.  Rosina,  Desdemojia, 
Cinderella,  and,  as  I  said  just  now,  Zerlina — 
she  is  as  fresh  in  them  all  to  my  mind's  eye 
and  ear,  as  if  the  Park  Theatre  had  not  given 
way  for  a  cursed  shoe-shop,  and  I  had  been 
hearing  her  there  only  last  night.  Let  's  drink 
her  memory,"  the  Consul  added,  half  in  mirth 
and  half  in  melancholy, — a  mood  to  which  he 
was  not  unused,  and  which  did  not  ill  become 
him. 

Now,  no  intelligent  person  who  knew  the 
excellence  of  the  Consul's  wine  could  refuse  to 
pay  this  posthumous  honor  to  the  harmonious 
shade  of  the  lost  Muse.  The  Consul  was  an 
old-fashioned  man  in  his  tastes,  to  be  sure,  and 
held  to  the  old  religion  of  Madeira,  which  di- 
vided the  faith  of  our  forefathers  with  the 
Cambridge  Platform,  and  had  never  given  in 
to  the  later  heresies  which  have  crept  into  the 
communion  of  good-fellowship  from  the  south 
of  France  and  the  Rhine. 

"  A  glass  of  champagne,"  he  would  say,  "  is 
all  well  enough  at  the  end  of  dinner,  just  to 
take  the  grease  out  of  one's  throat,  and  get  the 
palate  ready  for  the  more  serious  vintages  or- 


52  EDMUND    QUINCY. 

dained  for  the  solid  and  deliberate  drinking  by 
which  man  justifies  his  creation  ;  but  Madeira, 
sir,  Madeira  is  the  only  standby  that  never  fails 
a  man,  and  can  always  be  depended  upon  as 
something  sure  and  steadfast." 

I  confess  to  having  fallen  away  myself  from 
the  gracious  doctrine  and  works  to  which  he 
had  held  so  fast ;  but  I  am  no  bigot, — which, 
for  a  heretic,  is  something  remarkable, — and 
had  no  scruple  about  uniting  with  him  in  the 
service  he  proposed,  without  demur  or  protes- 
tation as  to  form  or  substance.  Indeed,  he 
disarmed  fanaticism  by  the  curious  care  he  be- 
stowed on  making  his  works  conformable  to  the 
faith  that  was  in  him  ;  for  partly  by  inheritance, 
and  partly  by  industrious  pains,  his  old  house 
was  undermined  by  a  cellar  of  wine  such  as  is 
seldom  seen  in  these  days  of  modern  degen- 
eracy. He  is  the  last  gentleman  that  I  know 
of,  of  that  old  school  that  used  to  import  wine 
and  lay  it  down  annually  themselves,  their 
bins  forming  a  kind  of  vinous  calendar  sug- 
gestive of  great  events.  Their  degenerate 
sons  are  content  to  be  furnished,  as  they 
want  it,  from  the  dubious  stores  of  the  vintner, 
by  retail. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  her  youth  and  beauty,  sir," 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA?      53 

I  suggested,  "  that  made  her  so  rememberable 
to  you.  You  know  she  was  barely  turned  sev- 
enteen when  she  sung  in  this  country." 

"  Partly  that,  no  doubt,"  replied  the  Consul, 
"  but  not  altogether,  nor  chiefly.  No,  sir ;  it 
was  her  genius  which  made  her  beauty  so  glo- 
rious. She  was  wonderfully  handsome,  though. 
*  She  was  a  phantom  of  delight,'  as  that  Lake 
fellow  says," — it  was  thus  profanely  that  the 
Consul  designated  the  poet  Wordsworth,  whom 
he  could  not  abide, — "  and  the  best  thing  he 
ever  said,  by  Jove  !  " 

"And  did  you  never  see  her  again?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"  Once,  only,"  he  answered,  "  eight  or  nine 
years  afterwards,  a  year  or  two  before  she  died. 
It  was  at  Venice,  and  in  Norma.  She  was  dif- 
ferent, and  yet  not  changed  for  the  worse. 
There  was  an  indescribable  look  of  sadness  out 
of  her  eyes,  that  touched  one  oddly,  and  fixed 
itself  in  the  memory.  But  she  was  something 
apart  and  by  herself,  and  stamped  herself  on 
one's  mind  as  Rachel  did  in  Caniille  or  Phedre. 
It  was  true  genius,  and  no  imitation,  that  made 
both  of  them  what  they  were.  But  she  actually 
had  the  physical  beauty  which  Rachel  only 
compelled  you   to  think  she  had,  by  the  force 


54  EDMUND    QUINCY. 

of  her  genius  and  consummate  dramatic  skill, 
while  she  was  on  the  scene  before  you." 

"  But  do  you  rank  Malibran  with  Rachel  as  a 
dramatic  artist  ?  "   I  asked. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  he  answered.  "  But  if  she 
had  not  the  studied  perfection  of  Rachel, — 
which  was  always  the  same,  and  could  not  be 
altered  without  harm, — she  had  at  least  a  ca- 
pacity of  impulsive  self-adaptation  about  her 
which  made  her  for  the  time  the  character  she 
personated, — not  always  the  same,  but  such  as 
the  woman  she  represented  might  have  been  in 
the  shifting  phases  of  the  passion  that  possessed 
her.  And  to  think  that  she  died  at  eight  and 
twenty  !  What  might  not  ten  years  more  have 
made  her  !  " 

"It  is  odd,"  I  observed,  "that  her  fame 
should  be  forever  connected  with  the  name  she 
got  by  her  first  unlucky  marriage  in  New  York  ; 
for  it  was  unlucky  enough,  I  believe — was  it 
not  ?  " 

"You  may  say  that,"  responded  the  Consul, 
"  without  fear  of  denial  or  qualification.  It  was 
disgraceful  in  its  beginning  and  in  its  ending. 
It  was  a  swindle  on  a  large  scale  ;  and  poor 
Maria  Garcia  was  the  one  who  suffered  the  most 
by  the  operation." 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA?      55 

"I  have  always  heard,"  said  I,  "that  old 
Garcia  was  cheated  out  of  the  price  for  which 
he  had  sold  his  daughter,  and  that  M.  Malibran 
got  his  wife  on  false  pretences." 

"  Not  altogether  so,"  returned  the  Consul, 
"  I  happen  to  know  all  about  that  matter  from 
the  best  authority.  She  was  obtained  on  false 
pretences,  to  be  sure  ;  but  it  was  not  Garcia 
that  suffered  by  them.  M.  Malibran,  more- 
over, never  paid  the  price  agreed  upon,  and  yet 
Garcia  got  it,  for  all  that." 

"  Indeed  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  It  must  have 
been  a  neat  operation.  I  cannot  exactly  see 
how  the  thing  was  done  ;  but  I  have  no  doubt 
a  tale  hangs  thereby,  and  a  good  one.  Is  it 
tellable  ?  " 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  not,"  said  the  Consul. 
"  The  sufferer  made  no  secret  of  it,  and  I  know 
of  no  reason  why  I  should.  Mynheer  Van  Hol- 
land told  me  the  story  himself,  in  Amsterdam, 
in  the  year  '35." 

"  And  who  was  he  ?  "  I  inquired,  "  and  what 
had  he  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  responded  the  Consul,  filling 
his  glass,  and  passing  the  bottle,  "  if  you  will 
have  the  goodness  to  shut  the  window  behind 
you,  and  ring  for  candles  ;    for  it   gets  chilly 


$6  EDMUND    QUINCY. 

here  among  the  mountains  as  soon  as  the  sun  is 
down." 

I  beg  your  pardon — did  you  make  a  remark  ? 
Oh,  wJiat  moimtains  ! — You  must  really  pardon 
me  ;  I  cannot  give  you  such  a  clow  as  that  to 
the  identity  of  my  dear  Consul,  just  now,  for 
excellent  and  sufficient  reasons.  But,  if  you 
have  paid  your  money  for  the  sight  of  this 
Number,  you  may  take  your  choice  of  all  the 
mountain-ranges  on  the  continent,  from  the 
Rocky  to  the  White,  and  settle  him  just  where 
you  like.  Only  you  must  leave  a  gap  to  the 
westward,  through  which  the  river — also  anony- 
mous for  the  present  distress — breaks  its  way, 
and  which  gives  him  half  an  hour's  more  sun- 
shine than  he  would  otherwise  be  entitled  to, 
and  slope  the  fields  down  to  its  margin  near  a 
mile  off,  with  their  native  timber  thinned  so 
skilfully  as  to  have  the  effect  of  the  best  land- 
scape-gardening. It  is  a  grand  and  lovely 
scene  ;  and  when  I  look  at  it,  I  do  not  wonder 
at  one  of  the  Consul's  apothegms,  namely,  that 
the  chief  advantage  of  foreign  travel  is,  that  it 
teaches  you  that  one  place  is  just  as  good  to 
live  in  as  another.  I  imagine  that  the  one 
place  he  had  in  his  mind  at  the  time  was  just 
this  one.     But   that   is  neither  here  nor  there. 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  f      $7 

When  candles  came,  we  drew  our  chairs  to- 
gether, and  he  told  me  in  substance  the  follow- 
ing story.  I  will  tell  it  in  my  own  words, — not 
that  they  are  so  good  as  his,  but  because  they 
come  more  readily  to  the  nib  of  my  pen. 

II. 

New  York  has  grown  considerably  since  she 
was  New  Amsterdam,  and  has  almost  forgotten 
her  whilom  dependence  on  her  first  godmother. 
Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  historic  industry 
of  the  erudite  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  very 
few  of  her  sons  would  know  much  about  the 
obhgations  of  their  nursing  mother  to  their 
old  grandame  beyond  sea,  in  the  days  of  the 
Dutch  dynasty.  Still,  though  the  old  monopoly 
has  been  dead  these  two  hundred  years,  or 
thereabout,  there  is  I  know  not  how  many  fold 
more  trafific  with  her  than  in  the  days  when  it 
was  in  full  life  and  force.  Doth  not  that  bene- 
factor of  his  species,  Mr.  Udolpho  Wolfe,  derive 
thence  his  immortal  or  immortalizing  Schiedam 
Schnapps,  the  virtues  whereof,  according  to  his 
advertisements,  are  fast  transferring  dram- 
drinking  from  the  domain  of  pleasure  to  that  of 
positive  duty?  Tobacco-pipes,  too,  and  toys 
such   as   the   friendly  saint,  whom   Protestant 


58  EDMUND   QUINCY. 

children  have  been  taught  by  Dutch  tradition 
to  invoke,  dehghts  to  drop  into  the  votive 
stocking, — they  come  from  the  mother-city, 
where  she  sits  upon  the  waters,  quite  as  much 
a  Sea-Cybele  as  Venice  herself.  And  linens,  too, 
fair  and  fresh  and  pure  as  the  maidens  that 
weave  them,  come  forth  from  Dutch  looms 
ready  to  grace  our  tables,  or  to  deck  our  beds. 
And  the  mention  of  these  brings  me  back  to  my 
story,  though  the  immediate  connection  be- 
tween Holland  linen  and  Malibran's  marriage 
may  not  at  first  view  be  palpable  to  sight. 
Still  it  is  a  fact  that  the  web  of  this  part  of  her 
variegated  destiny  was  spun  and  woven  out  of 
threads  of  flax  that  took  the  substantial  shape 
of  fine  Hollands  ;  and  this  is  the  way  in  which 
it  came  to  pass. 

Mynheer  Van  Holland,  of  whom  the  Consul 
spoke  just  now,  you  must  understand  to  have 
been  one  of  the  chief  merchants  of  Amsterdam, 
a  city  whose  merchants  are  princes,  and  have 
been  kings.  His  transactions  extended  to  all 
parts  of  the  Old  World,  and  did  not  skip  over 
the  New.  His  ships  visited  the  harbor  of  New 
York  as  well  as  of  London  ;  and,  as  he  died 
two  or  three  years  ago  a  very  rich  man,  his 
adventures  in  general  must  have  been  more  re- 


WHO  PAID  FOR   THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      59 

munerative  than  the  one  I  am  going  to  relate. 
In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1825  it  seemed  good 
to  this  worthy  merchant  to  despatch  a  vessel, 
with  a  cargo  chiefly  made  up  of  linens,  to  the 
market  of  New  York.  The  honest  man  little 
dreamed  with  what  a  fate  his  ship  was  fraught, 
wrapped  up  in  those  flaxen  folds.  He  hap- 
pened to  be  in  London  the  winter  before,  and 
was  present  at  the  d^but  of  Maria  Garcia  at  the 
King's  Theatre.  He  must  have  admired  the 
beauty,  grace,  and  promise  of  the  youthful 
Rosina,  had  he  been  ten  times  a  Dutchman  ; 
and  if  he  heard  of  her  intended  emigration  to 
America,  as  he  possibly  might  have  done,  it 
most  likely  excited  no  particular  emotion  in 
his  phlegmatic  bosom.  He  could  not  have 
imagined  that  the  exportation  of  a  little  sing- 
ing-girl to  New  York  should  interfere  with  a 
potential  venture  of  his  own  in  fair  linen.  The 
gods  kindly  hid  the  future  from  his  eyes,  so 
that  he  might  enjoy  the  comic  vexation  her 
lively  sallies  caused  to  Doctor  Bartolo  in  the 
play,  unknowing  that  she  would  be  the  inno- 
cent cause  of  a  more  serious  provocation  to 
himself  in  downright  earnest.  He  thought  of 
this  himself  after  it  had  all  happened. 

Well,  the  good  ship  "  Steenbok  "  had  pros- 


6o  EDMUND   QUINCY. 

perous  gales  and  fair  weather  across  the  ocean, 
and  dropped  anchor  off  the  Battery  with  some 
days  to  spare  from  the  amount  due  to  the  voy- 
age. The  consignee  came  off  and  took  posses- 
sion of  the  cargo,  and  duly  transferred  it  to  his 
own  warehouse.  Though  the  advantages  of 
advertising  were  not  as  fully  understood  in 
those  days  of  comparative  ignorance  as  they 
have  been  since,  he  duly  announced  the  goods 
which  he  had  received,  and  waited  for  a  cus- 
tomer. He  did  not  have  to  wait  long.  It  was 
but  a  day  or  two  after  the  appearance  of  the 
advertisement  in  the  newspapers  that  he  had 
prime  Holland  linens  on  hand,  just  received 
from  Amsterdam,  when  he  was  waited  upon  by 
a  gentleman  of  good  address,  and  evidently  of 
French  extraction,  who  inquired  of  the  con- 
signee, whom  we  will  call  Mr.  Schulemberg  for 
the  nonce,  "  whether  he  had  the  linens  he  had 
advertised  yet  on  hand." 

"  They  are  still  on  hand  and  on  sale,"  said 
Mr.  Schulemberg. 

"  What   is  the  price  of  the    entire  consign 
ment  ?  "  inquired  the  customer. 

"  Fifty   thousand    dollars,"    responded     Mr. 
Schulemberg. 

"And  the  terms?" 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA?      6 1 

"  Cash  on  delivery." 

"  Very  good,"  replied  the  obliging  buyer. 
"  If  they  be  of  the  quality  you  describe  in  your 
advertisement,  I  will  take  them  on  those  terms. 
Send  them  down  to  my  warehouse,  No.  Ii8 
Pearl  Street,  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  will 
send  you  the  money." 

"And  your  name  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Schulem- 
berg. 

"  Is  Malibran,"  responded  the  courteous  pur- 
chaser. 

The  two  merchants  bowed  politely,  the  one 
to  the  other,  mutually  well  pleased  with  the 
morning's  word,  and  bade  each  other  good- 
day. 

Mr.  Schulemberg  knew  but  little,  if  any 
thing,  about  his  new  customer ;  but,  as  the 
transaction  was  to  be  a  cash  one,  he  did  not 
mind  that.  He  calculated  his  commissions,  gave 
orders  to  his  head  clerk  to  see  the  goods  duly 
delivered  the  next  morning,  and  went  on 
Change,  and  thence  to  dinner,  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  complacent  mind  and  a  good  appe- 
tite. It  is  to  be  supposed  that  M.  Malibran 
did  the  same.  At  any  rate,  he  had  the  most 
reason,  at  least,  according  to  his  probable  no- 
tions of  mercantile  morality  and  success. 


62  EDMUND   QUINCY. 

III. 

The  next  day  came,  and  with  it  came,  be- 
times, the  packages  of  linens  to  M.  MaUbran's 
warehouse  in  Pearl  Street  ;  but  the  price  for 
the  same  did  not  come  as  punctually  to  Mr. 
Schulcmberg's  counting-room,  according  to  the 
contract  under  which  they  were  delivered.  In 
point  of  fact,  M.  Malibran  was  not  in  at  the 
time  ;  but  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  would 
attend  to  the  matter  without  delay,  as  soon  as 
he  came  in.  A  cash  transaction  docs  not 
necessarily  imply  so  much  the  instant  pres- 
ence of  coin  as  the  unequivocal  absence  of 
credit.  A  day  or  two  more  or  less  is  of  no 
material  consequence,  only  there  is  to  be  no 
delay  for  sales  and  returns  before  payment. 
So  Mr.  Schulemberg  gave  himself  no  uneasi- 
ness about  the  matter  when  two,  three,  and 
even  five  and  six  days  had  slid  away  without 
producing  the  apparition  of  the  current  money 
of  the  merchant.  A  man  who  transacted  af- 
fairs on  so  large  a  scale  as  M.  Malibran,  and 
conducted  them  on  the  sound  basis  of  ready 
money,  might  safely  be  trusted  for  so  short  a 
time.  But  when  a  week  had  elapsed,  and  no 
tidings  had  been  received  either  of  purchaser 
or     of     purchase-money,      Mr.      Schulemberg 


WHO  PAID  FOR   THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      63 

thought  it  time  for  himself  to  interfere  in  his 
own  proper  person.  Accordingly,  he  inconti- 
nently proceeded  to  the  counting-house  of  M. 
Malibran  to  receive  the  promised  price  or  to 
know  the  reason  why.  If  he  failed  to  obtain 
the  one  satisfaction,  he  at  least  could  not  com- 
plain of  being  disappointed  of  the  other.  Mat- 
ters seemed  to  be  in  some  little  unbusiness-like 
confusion,  and  the  clerks  in  a  high  state  of 
gleeful  excitement.  Addressing  himself  to  the 
chief  among  them,  Mr.  Schulemberg  asked  the 
pertinent  question, — 

"  Is  M.  Malibran  in  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  was  the  answer,  "  he  is  not ;  and 
he  will  not  be,  just  at  present." 

"But  when  will  he  be  in?  for  I  must  see 
him  on  some  pressing  business  of  importance." 

"  Not  to-day,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk,  smiling 
expressively.  "  He  cannot  be  interrupted  to- 
day on  any  business  of  any  kind  whatever." 

"  The  deuce  he  can't !  "  returned  Mr.  Schul- 
emberg. "  I  '11  see  about  that  very  soon,  I 
can  tell  you.  He  promised  to  pay  me  cash  for 
fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  Holland  linens 
a  week  ago.  I  have  not  seen  the  color  of  his 
money  yet,  and  I  mean  to  wait  no  longer. 
Where  does  he  live  ?  for,  if  he  be  alive,  I  will 


64  EDMUND   QUINCY. 

see  him,  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say  for  him- 
self, and  that  speedily." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  pleasantly  expostulated  the 
clerk,  "  I  think,  when  you  understand  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  you  will  forbear  disturbing 
M.  Malibran  this  day  of  all  others  in  his  life." 

"  Why,  what  the  devil  ails  this  day  above  all 
others,"  said  Mr.  Schulemberg  somewhat  test- 
ily, "  that  he  can't  see  his  creditors,  and  pay 
his  debts  on  it?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  the  fact  is,"  the  clerk  replied, 
with  an  air  of  interest  and  importance,  "  it  is 
M.  Malibran's  wedding-day.  Me  marries  this 
morning  the  Signorina  Garcia,  and  I  am  sure 
you  would  not  molest  him  with  business  on 
such  an  occasion  as  that." 

"  But  my  fifty  thousand  dollars  !  "  persisted 
the  consignee.  "  And  why  have  they  not  been 
paid  ?  " 

"Oh,  give  yourself  no  uneasiness  at  all  about 
that,  sir,"  replied  the  clerk,  with  the  air  of  one 
to  whom  the  handling  of  such  trifles  was  a 
daily  occurrence.  "  M.  Malibran  will,  of  course, 
attend  to  that  matter  the  moment  he  is  a 
little  at  leisure.  In  fact,  I  imagine,  that,  in  the 
hurry  and  bustle  inseparable  from  an  event  of 
this  nature,  the   circumstance   has   entirely   es- 


IVIIO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      65 

caped  his  mind  ;  but,  as  soon  as  he  returns  to 
business  again,  I  will  recall  it  to  his  recollec- 
tion, and  you  will  hear  from  him  without 
delay." 

The  clerk  was  right  in  his  augury  as  to  the 
effect  his  intelligence  would  have  upon  the 
creditor.  It  was  not  a  clerical  error  on  his  part 
when  he  supposed  that  Mr.  Schulemberg  would 
not  choose  to  enact  the  part  of  skeleton  at  the 
wedding-breakfast  of  the  young  Prima  Don7ia. 
There  is  something  about  the  great  events  of 
life,  which  cannot  happen  a  great  many  times 
to  anybody, — 

"  A  wedding  or  a  funeral, 
A  mourning  or  a  festival," 

that  touches  the  strings  of  the  one  human 
heart  of  us  ail,  and  makes  it  return  no  uncer- 
tain sound.  Shylock  himself  would  hardly  have 
demanded  his  pound  of  flesh  on  the  wedding- 
day,  had  it  been  Ajitonio  that  was  to  espouse 
the  fair  Portia.  Even  he  would  have  allowed 
three  days  of  grace  before  demanding  the 
specific  performance  of  his  bond.  Now,  Mr. 
Schulemberg  was  very  far  from  being  a  Shy- 
lock,  and  he  was  also  a  constant  attendant 
upon  the  opera,  and  a  devoted  admirer  of  the 


66  EDMUND    QUINCY. 

lovely  Garcia.  So  that  he  could  not  wonder 
that  a  man  on  the  eve  of  marriage  with  that 
divine  creature  should  forget  every  other  con- 
sideration in  the  immediate  contemplation  of 
his  happiness,  even  if  it  were  the  consideration 
for  a  cargo  of  prime  linens,  and  one  to  the  tune 
of  fifty  thousand  dollars.  And  it  is  altogether 
likely  that  the  mundane  reflection  occurred  to 
him,  and  made  him  easier  in  his  mind  under 
the  delay,  that  old  Garcia  was  by  no  means  the 
kind  of  man  to  give  away  a  daughter  who 
dropped  gold  and  silver  from  her  sweet  lips 
whenever  she  opened  them  in  public,  as  the 
princess  in  the  fairy-tale  did  pearls  and  dia- 
monds, to  any  man  who  could  not  give  him  a 
solid  equivalent  in  return.  So  that,  in  fact,  he 
regarded  the  notes  of  the  Signorina  Garcia  ai 
so  much  collateral  security  for  his  debt. 

So  Mr.  Schulcmbcrg  was  content  to  bide  his 
reasonable  time  for  the  discharge  of  M.  Mali, 
bran's  indebtedness  to  his  principal.  lie  had 
advised  Mynheer  Van  Holland  of  the  speedy 
sale  of  his  consignment,  and  given  him  hopes 
of  a  quick  return  of  the  proceeds.  But,  as  days 
wore  away,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  time  he 
was  called  on  to  bide  was  growing  into  an  un- 
reasonable one.     I  cannot   state  with  precision 


WHO  PAID  FOR   THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      6"/ 

exactly  how  long  he  waited.  Whether  he  dis- 
turbed the  sweet  influences  of  the  honeymoon 
by  his  intrusive  presence,  or  permitted  that 
nectareous  satellite  to  fill  her  horns,  and  wax 
and  wane  in  peace,  before  he  sought  to  bring 
the  bridegroom  down  to  the  things  of  earth, 
are  questions  which  I  must  leave  to  the  discre- 
tion of  my  readers  to  settle,  each  for  himself  or 
herself,  according  to  their  own  notions  of  the 
proprieties  of  the  case.  But  at  the  proper  time, 
after  patience  had  thrown  up  in  disgust  the 
office  of  a  virtue,  he  took  his  hat  and  cane  one 
fine  morning,  and  walked  down  to  No.  ii8 
Pearl  Street,  for  the  double  purpose  of  wishing 
M.  Malibran  joy  of  his  marriage,  and  of  receiv- 
ing the  price — promised  long,  and  long  withheld 
— of  the  linens  which  form  the  tissue  of  my  story. 

"  The  gods  gave  ear,  and  granted  half  his  prayer : 
The  rest  the  winds  dispersed  in  empty  air." 

There  was  not  the  slightest  difficulty  about  his 
imparting  his  epithalamic  congratulation  ;  but 
as  to  his  receiving  the  numismatic  consideration 
for  which  he  hoped  to  return,  that  was  an  en- 
tirely different  affair.  He  found  matters  in  the 
Pearl  Street  counting-house  again  apparently 
something  out  of  joint,  but  with  a  less  smiling 


68  EDMUND   QUINCY. 

and  sunny  atmosphere  pervading  them  than  he 
had  remarked  on  his  last  visit.  He  was  received 
by  M.  Mahbran  with  courtesy,  a  Httle  over- 
strained, perhaps,  and  not  as  flowing  and 
gracious  as  at  their  first  interview,  Prehmi- 
naries  over,  Mr.  Schulemberg,  plunging  with 
epic  energy  into  the  midst  of  things,  said,  "  I 
have  called,  M.  Malibran,  to  receive  the  fifty 
thousand  dollars,  which,  you  will  remember, 
you  engaged  to  pay  down  for  the  linens  I  sold 
you  on  such  a  day.  I  can  make  allowance  for 
the  interruption  which  has  prevented  your  at 
tending  to  this  business  sooner ;  but  it  is  nov^ 
high  time  that  it  was  settled." 

"  I  consent  to  it  all,  monsieur,"  replied  M 
Malibran  with  a  deprecatory  gesture.  "  You 
have  reason,  and  I  am  desolated  that  it  is  thtf 
impossible  that  you  ask  of  me  to  do." 

"  How,  sir  !  "  demanded  the  creditor.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  the  impossible  ?  You  do  not 
mean  to  deny  that  you  agreed  to  pay  cash  for 
the  goods?  " 

"  My  faith,  no,  monsieur,"  shruggingly  re- 
sponded M.  Malibran.  "  I  avow  it  ;  you  have 
reason  ;  I  promised  to  pay  the  money,  as  you 
say  it  ;  but,  if  I  have  not  the  money  to  pay  you, 
how  can  I  pay  you  the  money  ?    What  to  do  ?  " 


fVJ/O  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      69 

*'  I  don't  understand  you,  sir,"  returned  Mr. 
Schulemberg.  "You  have  not  the  money? 
And  you  do  not  mean  to  pay  me  according  to 
agreement  ?  " 

"  But,  monsieur,  how  can  I,  when  I  have  not 
money  ?  Have  you  not  heard  that  I  have  made 
— what  you  call  it? — failure,  yesterday?  I  am 
grieved  of  it  thrice  sensibly ;  but  if  it  went  of 
my  life,  I  could  not  pay  you  for  your  fine 
linens,  which  were  of  a  good  market  at  the 
price. 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Schulemberg,  "  I 
had  not  heard  of  your  misfortunes;  and  I  am 
heartily  sorry  for  them,  on  my  own  account  and 
yours,  but  still  more  on  account  of  your  charm- 
ing wife.  But  there  is  no  great  harm  done, 
after  all.  Send  the  linens  back  to  me,  and  ac- 
counts shall  be  square  between  us,  and  I  will 
submit  to  the  loss  of  the  interest." 

"Ah,  but,  monsieur,  you  are  too  good,  and 
madame  will  be  recognizant  to  you  forever  for 
your  gracious  politeness.  But,  my  God  !  it  is 
impossible  that  I  return  to  you  the  linen.  I 
have  sold  it,  monsieur —  I  have  sold  it  all !  " 

"  Sold  it  ?  "  reiterated  Mr.  Schulemberg,  re- 
gardless of  the  rules  of  etiquette, — "sold  it? 
And  to  whom,  pray  ?  and  when  ?  " 


70  EDMUND    QUINCY. 

"  To  M.  Garcia,  my  fathcr-in-the-la\v,"  an- 
swered the  catechumen  blandly ;  "  and  it  is 
a  week  that  he  has  received  it," 

"  Then  I  must  bid  you  a  good-morning,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Schulemberg,  rising  hastily,  and  col- 
lecting his  hat  and  gloves;  "  for  I  must  lose  no 
time  in  taking  measures  to  recover  the  goods 
before  they  have  changed  hands  again." 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,"  interrupted  the  poor 
but  honest  Malibran.  "  But  it  is  too  late ! 
One  cannot  regain  them.  M.  Garcia  embarked 
himself  for  Mexico  }'esterday  morning,  and  car- 
ried them  all  with  him." 

Imagine  the  consternation  and  rage  of  poor 
Mr.  Schulemberg  at  finding  that  he  was  sold, 
though  the  goods  were  not !  I  decline  report- 
ing the  conversation  any  further,  lest  its 
strength  of  expression  and  force  of  expletive 
might  be  too  much  for  the  more  queasy  of  my 
readers.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  sii.nndlce,  if 
I  may  be  allowed  the  royalty  of  coining  a  word, 
at  once  freed  his  own  mind,  and  imprisoned  the 
body  of  M.  Malibran  ;  for  in  those  days  impris- 
onment for  debt  was  a  recognized  institution, 
and  I  think  few  of  its  strongest  opponents  will 
deny  that  this  was  a  case  to  which  it  was  no 
abuse  to  apply  it. 


lVI/0  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  f      71 


IV. 
I  regret  that  I  am  compelled  to  leave  this 
exemplary  merchant  in  captivity  ;  but  the  exi- 
gencies of  my  story,  the  moral  of  which  beckons 
me  away  to  the  distant  coast  of  Mexico,  require 
it  at  my  hands.  The  reader  may  be  consoled, 
however,  by  the  knowledge  that  he  obtained  his 
liberation  in  due  time,  his  Dutch  creditor  being 
entirely  satisfied  that  nothing  whatsoever  could 
be  squeezed  out  of  him  by  passing  him  between 
the  bars  of  the  debtor's  prison,  though  that  was 
all  the  satisfaction  he  ever  did  get.  How  he 
accompanied  his  young  wife  to  Europe,  and 
there  lived  by  the  coining  of  her  voice  into 
drachmas,  as  her  father  had  done  before  him, 
needs  not  be  told  here  ;  nor  yet  how  she  was  di- 
vorced from  him,  and  made  another  matrimonial 

venture  in  partnership  with  De  B .     I  have 

nothing  to  do  with  him  or  her,  after  the  bargain 
and  sale  of  which  she  was  the  object,  and  the 
consequences  which  immediately  resulted  from 
it ;  and  here,  accordingly,  I  take  my  leave  of 
them.  But  my  story  is  not  quite  done  yet :  it 
must  now  pursue  the  fortunes  of  the  enterpris- 
ing impresario,  Signer  Garcia,  who  had  so  deftly 
turned  his  daughter  into  a  shipload  of  fine 
linens. 


EDMUND   QUINCY. 


This  excellent  person  sailed,  as  M.  Malibran 
told  Mr.  Schulcmberg,  for  Vera  Cruz,  with  an 
assorted  cargo,  consisting  of  singers,  fiddlers, 
and,  as  aforesaid,  of  Mynheer  Van  Holland's 
fine  linens.  The  voyage  was  as  prosperous  as 
was  due  to  such  an  argosy.  If  a  single  Am- 
phion  could  not  be  drowned  by  the  utmost 
malice  of  gods  and  men,  so  long  as  he  kept  his 
voice  in  order,  what  possible  mishap  could  be- 
fall a  whole  shipload  of  them  ?  The  vessel  ar- 
rived safely  under  the  shadow  of  San  Juan  de 
Ulua ;  and  her  precious  freight  in  all  its  varie- 
ties was  welcomed  with  a  tropical  enthusiasm. 
The  market  was  bare  of  linen  and  of  song,  and 
it  was  hard  to  say  which  found  the  readiest  sale. 
Competition  raised  the  price  of  both  articles  to 
a  fabulous  height.  So  the  good  Garcia  had  the 
benevolent  satisfaction  of  clothing  the  naked, 
and  making  the  ears  that  heard  him  to  bless 
him  at  the  same  time.  After  selling  his  linens 
at  a  great  advance  on  the  cost-price,  consider- 
ing he  had  only  paid  his  daughter  for  them, 
and  having  given  a  series  of  the  most  successful 
concerts  ever  known  in  those  latitudes,  Signor 
Garcia  set  forth  for  the  Aztec  City.  As  the 
relations  of  mcum  and  iuuin  were  not  upon  the 
most    satisfactory'    footing  just    then    at    Vera 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      73 

Cruz,  he  thought  it  most  prudent  to  carry  his 
well-won  treasure  with  him  to  the  capital.  His 
progress  thither  was  a  triumphal  procession. 
Not  Cortes,  not  General  Scott  himself,  marched 
more  gloriously  along  the  steep  and  rugged 
road  that  leads  from  the  sea-coast  to  the  table- 
land than  did  this  son  of  song.  Every  city  on 
his  line  of  march  was  the  monument  of  a  vic- 
tor>',  and  from  each  one  he  levied  tribute,  and 
bore  spoils  away.  And  the  vanquished  thanked 
him  for  this  spoiling  of  their  goods. 

Arrived  at  the  splendid  city,  at  that  time  the 
largest  and  most  populous  on  the  North  Ameri- 
can continent,  he  speedily  made  himself  master 
of  it, — a  welcome  conqueror.  The  Mexicans, 
with  the  genuine  love  for  song  of  their  South- 
ern ancestors,  had  had  but  few  opportunities 
for  gratifying  it  such  as  that  now  offered  to 
them.  Garcia  was  a  tenor  of  great  compass, 
and  a  most  skilful  and  accomplished  singer. 
The  artists  who  accompanied  him  were  of  a 
high  order  of  merit,  if  not  of  the  very  first  class. 
Mexico  had  never  heard  the  like,  and,  though 
a  hard-money  country,  was  glad  to  take  their 
notes,  and  give  them  gold  in  return.  They 
were  feasted  and  flattered  in  the  intervals  of 
the  concerts,  and  the  bright  eyes  of  senoras  and 


74  EDMUND   QUINCY. 

sefioritas  rained  influence  upon  them  on  the  off 
nights,  as  their  fair  hands  rained  flowers  upon 
the  on  ones.  And  they  have  a  very  pleasant 
way,  in  those  golden  realms,  of  giving  orna- 
ments of  diamonds  and  other  precious  stones 
to  virtuous  singers,  as  we  give  pencil-cases  and 
gold  watches  to  meritorious  railway-conductors 
and  hotel-clerks,  as  a  testimonial  of  the  sense 
we  entertain  of  their  private  characters  and 
public  services.  The  gorgeous  East  herself 
never  showered  "  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearl 
and  gold  "  with  a  richer  hand  than  the  City  of 
Mexico  poured  out  the  glittering  rain  over  the 
portly  person  of  the  happy  Garcia.  Saturated 
at  length  with  the  golden  flood  and  its  foam  of 
pearl  and  diamond — if,  indeed,  singer  were  ever 
capable  of  such  saturation,  and  were  not  rather 
permeable  forever,  like  a  sieve  of  the  Danaides, 
— saturated,  or  satisfied  that  it  was  all  run  out, 
he  prepared  to  take  up  his  line  of  march  back 
again  to  the  City  of  the  True  Cross.  Mexico 
mourned  over  his  going,  and  sent  him  forth 
upon  his  way  with  blessings,  and  prayers  for  his 
safe  return. 

But  alas  !  the  blessings  and  the  prayers  were 
alike  vain.  The  saints  were  either  deaf  or  busy, 
or  had  gone  a  journey,  and  either  did  not  hear 


WJIO  PA  ID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      75 

or  did  not  mind  the  vows  that  were  sent  up  to 
them.  At  any  rate,  they  did  not  take  that  care 
of  the  worthy  Garcia  which  their  devotees  had 
a  right  to  expect  of  them.  Turning  his  back 
on  the  halls  of  the  Montezumas,  where  he  had 
revelled  so  sumptuously,  he  proceeded  on  his 
way  towards  the  Atlantic  coast,  as  fast  as  his 
mules  thought  fit  to  carry  him  and  his  beloved 
treasure.  With  the  proceeds  of  his  linens  and 
his  lungs,  he  was  rich  enough  to  retire  from  the 
vicissitudes  of  operatic  life  to  some  safe  retreat 
in  his  native  Spain  or  his  adoptive  Italy.  Filled 
with  happy  imaginings,  he  fared  onward,  the 
bells  of  his  mules  keeping  time  with  the  melo- 
dious joy  of  his  heart,  until  he  had  descended 
from  the  tierra  caliente  to  the  wilder  region  on 
the  hither  side  of  Jalapa.  As  the  narrow  road 
turned  sharply,  at  the  foot  of  a  steeper  descent 
than  common,  into  a  dreary  valley,  made  yet 
more  gloomy  by  the  shadow  of  the  hill  behind 
intercepting  the  sun,  though  the  afternoon  was 
not  far  advanced,  the  impresario  was  made  un- 
pleasantly aware  of  the  transitory  nature  of 
man's  hopes  and  the  vanity  of  his  joys.  When 
his  train  wound  into  the  rough  open  space,  it 
found  itself  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  men 
whose  looks  and  gestures  bespoke  their  func- 


76  EDMUND  QUINCY. 

tion  without  the  intermediation  of  an  inter- 
preter. But  no  interpreter  was  needed  in  this 
case,  as  Signor  Garcia  was  a  Spaniard  by  birth, 
and  their  expressive  pantomime  was  a  suffi- 
ciently eloquent  substitute  for  speech.  In  plain 
English,  he  had  fallen  among  thieves,  with  very 
little  chance  of  any  good  Samaritan  coming  by 
to  help  him. 

Now,  Signor  Garcia  had  had  dealings  with 
brigands  and  banditti  all  his  operatic  life.  In- 
deed, he  had  often  drilled  them  till  they  were 
perfect  in  their  exercises,  and  got  them  up  re- 
gardless of  expense.  Under  his  direction  they 
had  often  rushed  forward  to  the  footlights, 
pouring  into  the  helpless  mass  before  them  re- 
peated volleys  of  explosive  crotchets.  But  this 
was  a  very  different  chorus  that  now  saluted 
his  eyes.  It  was  the  real  thing,  instead  of  the 
make-believe,  and  in  the  opinion  of  Signor 
Garcia,  at  least,  very  much  inferior  to  it.  In- 
stead of  the  steeple-crowned  hat,  jauntily  feath- 
ered and  looped,  these  irregulars  wore  huge 
sombreros,  much  the  worse  for  time  and  weather, 
flapped  over  their  faces.  For  the  velvet  jacket 
with  the  two-inch  tail,  which  had  nearly  broken 
up  the  friendship  between  Mr.  Pickwick  and 
Mr.  Tupman,  when  the  latter  gentleman  pro- 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      77 

posed  induing  himself  with  one,  on  the  occasion 
of  Mrs.  Leo  Hunter's  fancy-dress  breakfast, — 
for  this  integument,  I  say,  these  minions  of 
the  moon  had  blankets  round  their  shoulders, 
thrown  back  in  preparation  for  actual  service. 
Instead  of  those  authentic  cross-garterings  in 
which  your  true  bandit  rejoices,  like  a  new 
Malvolio,  to  tie  up  his  legs,  perhaps  to  keep 
them  from  running  away,  these  false  knaves 
wore,  some  of  them,  ragged  boots  up  to  their 
thighs,  while  others  had  no  crural  coverings  at 
all,  and  only  rough  sandals,  such  as  the  Indians 
there  use,  between  their  feet  and  the  ground. 
They  were  picturesque,  perhaps,  but  not  at- 
tractive to  wealthy  travellers.  But  the  wealthy 
travellers  were  attractive  to  them  :  so  they 
came  together,  all  the  same.  Such  as  they 
were,  however,  there  they  were,  fierce,  sad,  and 
sallow,  with  vicious-looking  knives  in  their  belts, 
and  guns  of  various  parentage  in  their  hands, 
while  their  captain  bade  our  good  man  stand 
and  deliver. 

There  was  no  room  for  choice.  He  had  an 
escort,  to  be  sure ;  but  it  was  entirely  unequal 
to  the  emergency,  even  if  it  were  not,  as  was 
afterwards  shrewdly  suspected,  in  league  with 
the  robbers.     The  enemy  had  the  advantage 


78  EDMUND  QUINCY. 

of  arms,  position,  and  numbers  ;  and  there  was 
nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  disgorge  his 
hoarded  gains  at  once,  or  to  have  his  breath 
stopped  first,  and  his  estate  summarily  admin- 
istered upon  afterwards,  by  these  his  casual 
heirs,  as  the  King  of  France,  by  virtue  of  his 
Droit  d'Auhaine,  would  have  confiscated  Yor- 
ick's  six  shirts  and  pair  of  black  silk  breeches, 
in  spite  of  his  eloquent  protest  against  such 
injustice,  had  he  chanced  to  die  in  his  Most 
Christian  Majesty's  dominions.  As  Signor  Gar- 
cia had  an  estate  in  his  breath,  from  which  he 
could  draw  a  larger  yearly  rent  than  the  rolls  of 
many  a  Spanish  grandee  could  boast,  he  wisely 
chose  the  part  of  discretion,  and  surrendered  at 
the  same.  His  new  acquaintances  showed  them- 
selves expert  practitioners  in  the  breaking-open 
of  trunks  and  the  rifling  of  treasure-boxes.  All 
his  beloved  doubloons,  all  his  cherished  dollars, 
for  the  which  no  Yankee  ever  felt  a  stronger 
passion,  took  swift  wings,  and  flew  from  his 
coffers  to  alight  in  the  hands  of  the  adversary. 
The  sacred  recesses  of  his  pockets,  and  those 
of  his  companions,  were  sacred  no  longer  from 
the  sacrilegious  hands  of  the  spoilers.  The 
breastpins  were  ravished  from  the  shirt-frills, — 
for  in   those  days   studs   were   not, — and   the 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      79 

rings  snatched  from  the  reluctant  fingers.  All 
the  shining  testimonials  of  Mexican  admiration 
were  transferred  with  the  celerity  of  magic  into 
the  possession  of  the  chivalry  of  the  road.  Not 
Faulconbridge  himself  could  have  been  more 
resolved  to  come  on  at  the  beckoning  of  gold 
and  silver  than  were  they,  and,  good  Catholics 
though  they  were,  it  is  most  likely  that  Bell, 
Book,  and  Candle  would  have  had  as  little 
restraining  influence  over  them  as  he  professed 
to  feel. 

At  last  they  rested  from  their  labors.  To 
the  victors  belonged  the  spoils,  as  they  discov- 
ered with  instinctive  sagacity  that  they  should 
do,  though  the  apothegm  had  not  yet  received 
the  authentic  seal  of  American  statesmanship. 
Science  and  skill  had  done  their  utmost,  and 
poor  Garcia  and  his  companions  in  misery 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  ring,  stripped  of 
every  thing  but  the  clothes  on  their  backs. 
The  duty  of  the  day  being  satisfactorily  per- 
formed, the  victors  felt  that  they  had  a  right  to 
some  relaxation  after  their  toils.  And  now  a 
change  came  over  them  which  might  have  re- 
minded Signor  Garcia  of  the  banditti  of  the 
green-room,  with  whose  habits  he  had  been  so 
long  familiar,    and   whose   operations   he   had 


8o  EDMUND   QUINCY. 

himself  directed.  Some  one  of  the  troop,  who 
however  "fit  for  strategems  and  spoils,"  had 
yet  music  in  his  soul,  called  aloud  for  a  song. 
The  idea  was  hailed  with  acclamations.  Not 
satisfied  with  the  capitalized  results  of  his 
voice  to  which  they  had  helped  themselves, 
they  were  unwilling  to  let  their  prey  go,  until 
they  had  also  ravished  from  him  some  speci- 
mens of  the  airy  mintage  whence  they  had 
issued.  Accordingly  the  Catholic  vagabonds 
seated  themselves  on  the  ground,  a  fuligi- 
nous parterre  to  look  upon,  and  called  upon 
Garcia  for  a  song.  A  rock  which  projected 
itself  from  the  side  of  the  hill  served  for  a 
stage  as  well  as  the  "  green  plat  "  in  the  wood 
near  Athens  did  for  the  company  of  Manager 
Quince,  and  there  was  no  need  of  a  "  tiring- 
room,"  as  poor  Garcia  had  no  clothes  to  change 
for  those  he  stood  in.  Not  the  Hebrews  by 
the  waters  of  Babylon,  when  their  captors  de- 
manded of  them  a  song  of  Zion,  had  less 
stomach  for  the  task.  But  the  prime  tenor 
was  now  before  an  audience  that  would  brook 
neither  denial  nor  excuse.  Nor  hoarseness,  nor 
catarrh,  nor  sudden  illness,  certified  unto  by 
the  friendly  physician,  would  avail  him  now. 
The    demand    was    irresistible  ;     for,    when    he 


WffO  PAID  FOR   THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      Si 

hesitated,  the  persuasive  though  stern  mouth 
of  a  musket  hinted  to  him  in  expressive  silence 
that  he  had  better  prevent  its  speech  with  song. 
So  he  had  to  make  his  first  appearance  upon 
that  "  unworthy  scaffold,"  before  an  audience, 
which,  multifold  as  his  experience  had  been,  was 
one  such  as  he  had  never  sung  to  yet.  As  the 
shadows  of  evening  began  to  fall,  rough  torches 
of  pine-wood  were  lighted,  and  shed  a  glare 
such  as  Salvator  Rosa  loved  to  kindle,  upon  a 
scene  such  as  he  delighted  to  paint.  The  ras- 
cals had  taste  ;  that  the  tenor  himself  could 
not  deny.  They  knew  the  choice  bits  of  the 
operas  which  held  the  stage  forty  years  ago,  and 
they  called  for  them  wisely,  and  applauded  his 
efforts  vociferously.  Nay,  more,  in  the  height 
of  their  enthusiasm  they  would  toss  him  one  of 
his  own  doubloons  or  dollars,  instead  of  the 
bouquets  usually  hurled  at  well-deserving  sing- 
ers. They  well  judged  that  these  flowers  that 
never  fade  would  be  the  tribute  he  would  value 
most,  and  so  they  rewarded  his  meritorious 
strains  out  of  his  own  stores,  as  Claude  Duval 
or  Richard  Turpin,  in  the  golden  days  of  high- 
way robbery,  would  sometimes  generously  re- 
turn a  guinea  to  a  traveller  he  had  just 
lightened  of  his  purse,  to  enable  him  to  con- 


82  EDMUND  QUINCY. 

tinue  his  journey.  It  was  lucky  for  the  un- 
fortunate Garcia  that  their  approbation  took 
this  solid  shape,  or  he  would  have  been  badly 
off  indeed  ;  for  it  was  all  he  had  to  begin  the 
world  with  over  again.  After  his  appreciating 
audience  had  exhausted  their  musical  reper- 
tory, and  had  as  many  encores  as  they  thought 
good,  they  broke  up  the  concert,  and  betook 
themselves  to  their  fastnesses  among  the 
mountains,  leaving  their  patient  to  find  his  way 
to  the  coast  as  best  he  might,  with  a  pocket 
as  light  as  his  soul  was  heavy.  At  Vera  Cruz  a 
concert  or  two  furnished  him  with  the  means 
of  embarking  himself  and  his  troupe  for  Europe, 
and  leaving  the  New  World  forever  behind 
him. 

And  here  I  must  leave  him,  for  my  story  is 
done.  The  reader  hungering  for  a  moral  may 
discern,  that,  though  Signor  Garcia  received 
the  price  he  asked  for  his  lovely  daughter,  it 
advantaged  him  nothing,  and  that  he  not  only 
lost  it  all,  but  it  was  the  occasion  of  his  losing 
every  thing  else  he  had.  This  is  very  well  as  far  as 
it  goes;  but  then  it  is  equally  true  that  M. 
Malibran  actually  obtained  his  wife,  and  that 
Mynheer  Van  Holland  paid  for  her.  I  dare 
say  all  this  can  be  reconciled  with  the  eternal 


WHO  PAID  FOR  THE  PRIMA  DONNA  ?      83 

fitness  of  things  ;  but  I  protest  I  don't  see  how 
it  is  to  be  done.  It  is  "  all  a  muddle"  in  my 
mind.  I  cannot  even  affirm  that  the  banditti 
were  ever  hanged  ;  and  I  am  quite  sure  that 
the  unlucky  Dutch  merchant,  whose  goods 
were  so  comically  mixed  up  with  this  whole 
history,  never  had  any  poetical  or  material  jus- 
tice for  his  loss  of  them.  But  it  is  as  much  the 
reader's  business  as  mine  to  settle  these  casuis- 
tries. I  only  undertook  to  tell  him  who  it  was 
that  paid  for  the  Prima  Donna — and  I  have 
done  it. 

V. 

"  I  consider  that  a  good  story,"  said  the  Con- 
sul, when  he  had  finished  the  narration  out  of 
which  I  have  compounded  the  foregoing,  "  and, 
what  is  not  always  the  case  with  a  good  story, 
it  is  a  true  one." 

I  cordially  concurred  with  my  honored  friend 
in  this  opinion,  and  if  the  reader  should  unfortu- 
nately differ  from  me  on  this  point,  I  beg  him 
to  believe  that  it  is  entirely  my  fault.  As  the 
Consul  told  it  to  me,  it  was  an  excellent  good 
story. 

"  Poor  Mynheer  Van  Holland,"  he  added, 
laughing,  "  never  got  over  that  adventure. 
Not   that   the   loss  was  material   to  him, — he 


84  EDMUND  QUINCY. 

was  too  rich  for  that, — but  the  provocation  of 
his  fifty  thousand  dollars  going  to  a  parcel  of 
Mexican  ladrones,  after  buying  an  opera-singer 
for  a  Frenchman  on  its  way,  was  enough  to 
rouse  even  Dutch  human  nature  to  the  swear- 
ing-point. He  could  not  abide  either  French- 
men or  opera-singers  all  the  rest  of  his  life. 
And,  by  Jove  !  I  don't  wonder  at  it." 

Nor   I,    neither,    for   the   matter   of  that. — 
Wensley,  and  Other  Stories. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 

(born,  1809.) 


FOREIGN   CORRESPONDENCE. 

DO  I  think  that  the  particular  form  of 
lying  often  seen  in  newspapers,  under 
the  title,  "  From  our  Foreign  Correspondent," 
does  any  harm  ? — Why,  no, — I  don't  know  that 
it  does.  I  suppose  it  does  n't  really  deceive 
people  any  more  than  the  "  Arabian  Nights  " 
or  "  Gulliver's  Travels  "  do.  Sometimes  the 
writers  compile  too  carelessly,  though,  and  mix 
up  facts  out  of  geographies,  and  stories  out  of 
the  penny  papers,  so  as  to  mislead  those  who 
are  desirous  of  information.  I  cut  a  piece  out 
of  one  of  the  papers,  the  other  day,  which  con- 
tains a  number  of  improbabilities,  and,  I  sus- 
pect, misstatements.  I  will  send  up  and  get  it 
for  you,  if  you  would  like  to  hear  it.  Ah,  this 
is  it ;  it  is  headed 

"  OUR   SUMATRA    CORRESPONDENCE. 

"  This   island   is   now   the   property  of  the 
Stamford  family, — having  been  won,  it  is  said, 

85 


86  OLIVER    WENDELL  HOLMES. 


in  a  raffle,  by  Sir Stamford,  during  the 

stock-gambling  mania  of  the  South-Sea  Scheme. 
The  history  of  this  gentleman  may  be  found 
in  an  interesting  series  of  questions  (unfortu- 
nately not  yet  answered)  contained  in  the 
*  Notes  and  Queries.*  This  island  is  entirely 
surrounded  by  the  ocean,  which  here  contains 
a  large  amount  of  saline  substance,  crystallizing 
in  cubes  remarkable  for  their  symmetry,  and 
frequently  displays  on  its  surface,  during  calm 
weather,  the  rainbow  tints  of  the  celebrated 
South-Sea  bubbles.  The  summers  are  oppres- 
sively hot,  and  the  winters  very  probably  cold  ; 
but  this  fact  cannot  be  ascertained  precisely, 
as,  for  some  peculiar  reason,  the  mercury  in 
these  latitudes  never  shrinks,  as  in  more -north- 
ern regions,  and  thus  the  thermometer  is  ren- 
dered useless  in  winter. 

"  The  principal  vegetable  productions  of  the 
island  are  the  pepper-tree  and  the  bread-fruit 
tree.  Pepper  being  very  abundantly  produced, 
a  benevolent  society  was  organized  in  London 
during  the  last  century  for  supplying  the  na- 
tives with  vinegar  and  oysters,  as  an  addition 
to  that  delightful  condiment.  (Note  received 
from  Dr.  D.  P.)  It  is  said,  however,  that,  as 
the  oysters  were  of  the  kind  called  natives  in 


FOREIGN  CORRESPONDENCE.  8/ 

England,  the  natives  of  Sumatra,  in  obedience 
to  a  natural  instinct,  refused  to  touch  them, 
and  confined  themselves  entirely  to  the  crew 
of  the  vessel  in  which  they  were  brought  over. 
This  information  was  received  from  one  of  the 
oldest  inhabitants,  a  native  himself,  and  ex- 
ceedingly fond  of  missionaries.  He  is  said 
also  to  be  very  skilful  in  the  cuisine  peculiar  to 
the  island. 

"  During  the  season  of  gathering  pepper,  the 
persons  employed  are  subject  to  various  incom- 
modities,  the  chief  of  which  is  violent  and  long- 
continued  sternutation,  or  sneezing.  Such  is 
the  vehemence  of  these  attacks,  that  the  unfor- 
tunate subjects  of  them  are  often  driven  back- 
wards for  great  distances  at  immense  speed,  on 
the  well-known  principle  of  the  aeolipile.  Not 
being  able  to  see  where  they  are  going,  these 
poor  creatures  dash  themselves  to  pieces  against 
the  rocks,  or  are  precipitated  over  the  cliffs, 
and  thus  many  valuable  lives  are  lost  annually. 
As,  during  the  whole  pepper-harvest,  they  feed 
exclusively  on  this  stimulant,  they  become  ex- 
ceedingly irritable.  The  smallest  injury  is 
resented  with  ungovernable  rage.  A  young  man 
suffering  from  the  pepper-fever,  as  it  is  called, 
cudgelled  another  most  severely  for  appropria- 


88  OLIVER   WENDELL  HOLMES. 

ting  a  superannuated  relative  of  trifling  value, 
and  was  only  pacified  by  having  a  present 
made  him  of  a  pig  of  that  peculiar  species 
of  swine  called  the  Peccavi  by  the  Catholic 
Jews,  who,  it  is  well  known,  abstain  from 
swine's  flesh  in  imitation  of  the  Mahometan 
Buddhists. 

"  The  bread-tree  grows  abundantly.  Its 
branches  are  well  known  to  Europe  and 
America  under  the  familiar  name  of  maccarojii. 
The  smaller  twigs  are  called  vermicelli.  They 
have  a  decided  animal  flavor,  as  may  be  ob- 
served in  the  soups  containing  them.  Macca- 
roni,  being  tubular,  is  the  favorite  habitat  of  a 
very  dangerous  insect,  which  is  rendered  pe- 
culiarly ferocious  by  being  boiled.  The  gov- 
ernment of  the  island,  therefore,  never  allows  a 
stick  of  it  to  be  exported  without  being  accom- 
panied by  a  piston  with  which  its  cavity  may 
at  any  time  be  thoroughly  swept  out.  These 
are  commonly  lost  or  stolen  before  the  macca- 
roni  arrives  among  us.  It  therefore  always 
contains  many  of  these  insects,  which,  how- 
ever, generally  die  of  old  age  in  the  shops,  so 
that  accidents  from  this  source  are  compara- 
tively rare. 

"  The  fruit  of  the  bread-tree  consists  princi- 


MUSIC-POUNDING.  89 

pally  of  hot  rolls.  The  buttered-muffin  va- 
riety is  supposed  to  be  a  hybrid  with  the 
cocoa-nut  palm,  the  cream  found  on  the 
milk  of  the  cocoa-nut  exuding  from  the  hy- 
brid in  the  shape  of  butter,  just  as  the  ripe 
fruit  is  splitting,  so  as  to  fit  it  for  the  tea- 
table,  where  it  is   commonly   served    up   with 

cold " 

— There, — I  don't  want  to  read  any  more  of 
it.  You  see  that  many  of  these  statements  are 
highly  improbable.  No,  I  shall  not  mention 
the  paper. —  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast- 
Table. 

MUSIC-POUNDING. 

The  old  Master  was  talking  about  a  concert 
he  had  been  to  hear. 

— I  don't  like  your  chopped  music  anyway. 
That  woman — she  had  more  sense  in  her  little 
finger  than  forty  medical  societies — Florence 
Nightingale — says  that  the  music  you  pour  out 
is  good  for  sick  folks,  and  the  music  you  poimd 
out  is  n't.  Not  that  exactly,  but  something 
like  it.  I  have  been  to  hear  some  music- 
pounding.  It  was  a  young  woman,  with  as 
many  white  muslin  flounces  round  her  as  the 
planet  Saturn  has  rings,  that  did  it.     She  gave 


90  OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES. 

the  music-stool  a  twirl  or  two  and  fluffed  down 
on  to  it  like  a  whirl  of  soap-suds  in  a  hand- 
basin.  Then  she  pushed  up  her  cuffs  as  if  she 
was  going  to  fight  for  the  champion's  belt. 
Then  she  worked  her  wrists  and  her  hands,  to 
limber  'em,  I  suppose,  and  spread  out  her 
fingers  till  they  looked  as  though  they  would 
pretty  much  cover  the  key-board,  from  the 
growling  end  to  the  little  squeaky  one.  Then 
those  two  hands  of  hers  made  a  jump  at  the 
keys  as  if  they  were  a  couple  of  tigers  coming 
down  on  a  flock  of  black  and  white  sheep,  and 
the  piano  gave  a  great  howl  as  if  its  tail  had 
been  trod  on.  Dead  stop, — so  still  you  could 
hear  your  hair  growing.  Then  another  jump, 
and  another  howl,  as  if  the  piano  had  two  tails 
and  )ou  had  trod  on  both  of  'cm  at  once,  and 
then  a  grand  clatter  and  scramble  and  string  of 
jumps,  up  and  down,  back  and  forward,  one 
hand  over  the  other,  like  a  stampede  of  rats 
and  mice  more  than  like  any  thing  I  call  music. 
I  like  to  hear  a  woman  sing,  and  I  like  to  hear 
a  fiddle  sing,  but  these  noises  they  hammer  out 
of  their  wood  and  ivory  anvils — don't  talk  to 
me,  I  know  the  difference  between  a  bull-frog 
and  a  wood-thrush. —  The  Poet  at  the  Breakfast- 
Table. 


THE   OLD  MAJV  DREAMS.  9 1 


THE   OLD    MAN   DREAMS. 

0  for  one  hour  of  youthful  joy  ! 
Give  back  my  twentieth  spring  ! 

1  'd  rather  laugh  a  bright-haired  boy 

Than  reign  a  gray-beard  king  ! 

Off  with  the  wrinkled  spoils  of  age  ! 

Away  with  learning's  crown  ! 
Tear  out  life's  wisdom-written  page, 

And  dash  its  trophies  down  ! 

One  moment  let  my  life-blood  stream 
From  boyhood's  fount  of  flame  ! 

Give  me  one  giddy,  reeling  dream 
Of  life  all  love  and  fame ! 

My  listening  angel  heard  the  prayer, 

And  calmly  smiling,  said, 
"  If  I  but  touch  thy  silvered  hair. 

Thy  hasty  wish  hath  sped. 

"  But  is  there  nothing  in  thy  track 

To  bid  thee  fondly  stay, 
While  the  swift  seasons  hurry  back 

To  find  the  wished-for  day  ?  " 

— Ah,  truest  soul  of  womankind  ! 
Without  thee,  what  were  life  ? 


92  OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES. 


One  bliss  I  cannot  leave  behind  : 
I  '11  take — my — precious — wife  ! 

— The  angel  took  a  sapphire  pen 

And  wrote  in  rainbow  dew, 
"  The  man  would  be  a  boy  again, 

And  be  a  husband  too  !  " 

— "  And  is  there  nothing  yet  unsaid 

Before  the  change  appears  ? 
Remember,  all  their  gifts  have  fled 

With  those  dissolving  years  !  " 

Why,  yes  ;  for  memory  would  recall 

My  fond  paternal  joys; 
I  could  not  bear  to  leave  them  all — 

I  '11  take — my — girl — and — boys  ! 

The  smiling  angel  dropped  his  pen, — 

"  Why  this  will  never  do  ; 
The  man  would  be  a  boy  again, 

And  be  a  father  too  !  " 

And  so  I  laughed, — my  laughter  woke 
The  household  with  its  noise, — 

And  wrote  my  dream,  when  morning  broke, 
To  please  the  gray-haired  boys. 

—  The  A  utocrat  of  the  Breakfast-  Table. 


DISLIKES.  93 


DISLIKES. 

I  want  it  to  be  understood  that  I  consider 
that  a  certain  number  of  persons  are  at  Hberty 
to  dislike  me  peremptorily,  without  showing- 
cause,  and  that  they  give  no  offence  whatever 
in  so  doing. 

If  I  did  not  cheerfully  acquiesce  in  this  senti- 
ment towards  myself  on  the  part  of  others,  I 
should  not  feel  at  liberty  to  indulge  my  own 
aversions.  I  try  to  cultivate  a  Christian  feeling 
to  all  my  fellow-creatures,  but  inasmuch  as  I 
must  also  respect  truth  and  honesty,  I  confess  to 
myself  a  certain  number  of  inalienable  dislikes 
and  prejudices,  some  of  which  may  possibly  be 
shared  by  others.  Some  of  these  are  purely  in- 
stinctive, for  others  I  can  assign  a  reason.  Our 
likes  and  dislikes  play  so  important  a  part  in 
the  order  of  things  that  it  is  well  to  see  on  what 
they  are  founded. 

There  are  persons  I  meet  occasionally  who 
are  too  intelligent  by  half  for  my  liking.  They 
know  my  thoughts  beforehand,  and  tell  me 
what  I  was  going  to  say.  Of  course  they  are 
masters  of  all  my  knowledge,  and  a  good  deal 
besides  ;  have  read  all  the  books  I  have  read, 
and  in  later  editions ;  have  had  all  the  experi- 
ences I  have  been  through,  and  more  too.     In 


94  OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES. 

my  private  opinion  every  mother's  son  of  them 
will  lie  at  any  time  rather  than  confess  ignorance. 

— I  have  a  kind  of  dread,  rather  than  hatred, 
of  persons  with  a  large  excess  of  vitality  ;  great 
feeders,  great  laughers,  great  story-tellers,  who 
come  sweeping  over  their  company  with  a  huge 
tidal  wave  of  animal  spirits  and  boisterous 
merriment.  I  have  pretty  good  spirits  myself, 
and  enjoy  a  little  mild  pleasantry,  but  I  am 
oppressed  and  extinguished  by  these  great 
lusty,  noisy  creatures,  and  feel  as  if  I  were 
a  mute  at  a  funeral  when  they  get  into  full 
blast. 

— I  cannot  get  along  much  better  with  those 
drooping,  languid  people,  whose  vitality  falls 
short  as  much  as  that  of  the  others  is  in  excess. 
I  have  not  life  enough  for  two  ;  I  wish  I  had.  It 
is  not  very  enlivening  to  meet  a  fellow-creature 
whose  expression  and  accents  say,  "  You  are 
the  hair  that  breaks  the  camel's  back  of  my  en- 
durance, you  are  the  last  drop  that  makes  my 
cup  of  woe  run  over  "  ;  persons  whose  heads 
drop  on  one  side  like  those  of  toothless  infants, 
whose  voices  recall  the  tones  in  which  our  old 
snuffling  choir  used  to  wail  out  the  verses  of 

"  Life  is  the  time  to  serve  the  Lord." 


DISLIKES.  95 


— There  is  another  style  which  does  not  cap- 
tivate me.  I  recognize  an  attempt  at  the  grand 
manner  now  and  then,  in  persons  who  are  well 
enough  in  their  way,  but  of  no  particular  im- 
portance, socially  or  otherwise.  Some  family 
tradition  of  wealth  or  distinction  is  apt  to  be  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  and  it  survives  all  the  advan- 
tages that  used  to  set  it  off.  I  like  family  pride 
as  well  as  my  neighbors,  and  respect  the  high- 
born fellow-citizen  whose  progenitors  have  not 
worked  in  their  shirt-sleeves  for  the  last  two 
generations  full  as  much  as  I  ought  to.  But 
grand-pcre  oblige ;  a  person  with  a  known  grand- 
father is  too  distinguished  to  find  it  necessary 
to  put  on  airs.  The  few  Royal  Princes  I  have 
happened  to  know  were  very  easy  people  to 
get  along  with,  and  had  not  half  the  social 
knee-action  I  have  often  seen  in  the  collapsed 
dowagers  who  lifted  their  eyebrows  at  me  in 
my  earlier  years. 

—  My  heart  does  not  warm  as  it  should  do 
towards  the  persons,  not  intimates,  who  are  al- 
ways too  glad  to  see  me  when  we  meet  by  acci- 
dent, and  discover  all  at  once  that  they  have  a 
vast  deal  to  unbosom  themselves  of  to  me. 

—  There  is  one  blameless  person  whom  I  can- 
not love  and  have  no  excuse  for  hating.     It  is 


96  OLIVER   WENDELL  HOLMES. 

the  innocent  fellow-creature,  otherwise  inoffen- 
sive to  me,  whom  I  find  I  have  involuntarily 
joined  on  turning  a  corner.  I  suppose  the  Mis- 
sissippi, which  was  flowing  quietly  along,  mind- 
ing its  own  business,  hates  the  Missouri  for 
coming  into  it  all  at  once  witii  its  muddy 
stream.  I  suppose  the  Missouri  in  like  man- 
ner hates  the  Mississippi  for  diluting  with  its 
limpid,  but  insipid  current  the  rich  reminis- 
cences of  the  varied  soils  though  which  its 
own  stream  has  wandered.  I  will  not  com- 
pare myself  to  the  clear  or  the  turbid  cur- 
rent, but  I  will  own  that  my  heart  sinks  when 
I  find  all  of  a  sudden  I  am  in  for  a  corner  con- 
fluence, and  I  cease  loving  my  neighbor  as  my- 
self until  I  can  get  away  from  him. —  The  Poet  at 
the  Breakfast-Table. 


HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE. 

(born  iSi2.) 


SAM    LAWSON. 

EVERY  New  England  village,  if  you  only 
think  of  it,  must  have  its  do-nothing  as 
regularly  as  it  has  its  school-house  or  meeting- 
house. Nature  is  alvvay  wide  awake  in  the 
matter  of  compensation.  Work,  thrift,  and  in- 
dustry are  such  an  incessant  steam-power  in 
Yankee  life,  that  society  would  burn  itself  out 
with  intense  friction  were  there  not  interposed 
here  and  there  the  lubricating  power  of  a  de- 
cided do-nothing, — a  man  who  won't  be  hur- 
ried, and  won't  work,  and  will  take  his  ease  in 
his  own  way,  in  spite  of  the  whole  protest  of 
his  neighborhood  to  the  contrary.  And  there  is 
on  the  face  of  the  whole  earth  no  do-nothing 
whose  softness,  idleness,  general  inaptitude  to 
labor,  and  everlasting,  universal  shiftlessness 
can  compare  with  that  of  this  worthy,  as  found 
in  a  brisk  Yankee  village. 

97 


ga  HARRIET  BEECH ER   STOWE. 

Sam  Lawson  filled  this  post  with  ample  honor 
in  Oldtown.  He  was  a  fellow  dear  to  the  souls 
of  all  "  us  boys  "  in  the  village,  because,  from 
the  special  nature  of  his  position,  he  never  had 
any  thing  more  pressing  to  do  than  croon  and 
gossip  with  us.  He  was  ready  to  spend  hours 
in  tinkering  a  boy's  jack-knife,  or  mending  his 
skate,  or  start  at  the  smallest  notice  to  watch  at 
a  woodchuck's  hole,  or  give  incessant  service  in 
tending  a  dog's  sprained  paw.  He  was  always 
on  hand  to  go  fishing  with  us  on  Saturday  after- 
noons ;  and  I  have  known  him  to  sit  hour  after 
hour  on  the  bank,  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  boys, 
baiting  our  hooks  and  taking  off  our  fish.  He 
was  a  soft-hearted  old  body,  and  the  wrigglings 
and  contortions  of  our  prey  used  to  disturb  his 
repose  so  that  it  was  a  regular  part  of  his  work 
to  kill  the  fish  by  breaking  their  necks  when  he 
took  them  from  the  hook. 

"  Why,  lordy  massy,  boys,"  he  would  say,  "  I 
can't  bear  to  see  no  kind  o'  critter  in  torment. 
These  'ere  pouts  ain't  to  blame  for  bein'  fish, 
and  ye  ought  to  put  'em  out  of  their  misery. 
Fish  lies  their  rights  as  well  as  any  of  us."    .    .    . 

Sam  was  of  respectable  family,  and  not  desti- 
tute of  education.  He  was  an  expert  in  at  least 
five  or  six  different  kinds  of  handicraft,  in  all  of 


SAM  LA  IVSON.  99 


which  he  had  been  pronounced  by  the  knowing 
ones  to  be  a  capable  workman,  "  if  only  he 
would  stick  to  it." 

He  had  a  blacksmith's  shop,  where,  when 
the  fit  was  on  him,  he  would  shoe  a  horse 
better  than  any  man  in  the  country.  No  one 
could  supply  a  missing  screw,  or  apply  a  timely 
brace,  with  more  adroitness.  He  could  mend 
cracked  china  so  as  to  be  almost  as  good  as 
new  ;  he  could  use  carpenter's  tools  as  well  as 
a  born  carpenter,  and  would  doctor  a  rheumatic 
door  or  a  shaky  window  better  than  half  the 
professional  artisans  in  wood.  No  man  could 
put  a  refractory  clock  to  rights  with  more  in- 
genuity than  Sam, — that  is,  if  you  would  give 
him  his  time  to  be  about  it. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  wrath  and  dismay 
which  he  roused  in  my  Aunt  Lois's  mind  by 
the  leisurely  way  in  which,  after  having  taken 
our  own  venerable  kitchen  clock  to  pieces,  and 
strewn  the  fragments  all  over  the  kitchen,  he 
would  roost  over  it  in  endless  incubation,  tell- 
ing stories,  entering  into  long-winded  theologi- 
cal discussions,  smoking  pipes,  and  giving  his- 
tories of  all  the  other  clocks  in  Oldtown,  with 
occasional  memoirs  of  those  in  Needmore, 
the    North    Parish,    and    Podunk,    as    placidly 


100  HARRIET  BEECHER    STOWE. 

indifferent  to  all  her  volleys  of  sarcasm  and 
contempt,  her  stinging  expostulations  and 
philippics,  as  the  sailing  old  moon  is  to  the 
frisky,  animated  barking  of  some  puppy  dog 
of  earth. 

"  Why,  ye  see,  Miss  Lois,"  he  would  say, 
"  clocks  can't  be  druv  ;  that  's  jest  what  they 
can't.  Some  things  can  be  druv,  and  then  agin 
some  things  can't,  and  clocks  is  that  kind. 
They  's  jest  got  to  be  humored.  Now  this 
'ere  's  a  'mazin'  good  clock,  give  me  my  time 
on  it,  and  I  '11  have  it  so  't  will  keep  straight  on 
to  the  Millennium." 

"  Millennium  !  "  says  Aunt  Lois,  with  a  snort 
of  infinite  contempt. 

"  Yes,  the  Millennium,"  says  Sam,  letting  fall 
his  work  in  a  contemplative  manner.  "  That 
'ere 's  an  interestin'  topic  now.  Parson  Lothrop, 
he  don't  think  the  Millennium  will  last  a  thou- 
sand years.  What  's  your  'pinion  on  that  pint, 
Miss  Lois?  " 

"  My  opinion  is,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  in  her  most 
nipping  tones,  "  that  if  folks  don't  mind  their 
own  business,  and  do  with  their  might  what 
their  hands  find  to  do,  the  Millennium  won't 
come  at  all." 

"  Wal,  you  see,  Miss  Lois,  it  's  just  here, — 


SAM  LAWSON.  1 01 


one  day  is  with  the  Lord  as  a  thousand  years, 
and  a  thousand  years  as  one  day." 

"  I  should  think  you  thought  a  day  was  a 
thousand  years,  the  way  you  work,"  said  Aunt 
Lois. 

"  Wal,"  says  Sam,  sitting  down  with  his  back 
to  his  desperate  litter  of  wheels,  weights,  and 
pendulums,  and  meditatively  caressing  his  knee 
as  he  watched  the  sailing  clouds  in  abstract 
meditation,  "  ye  see,  ef  a  thing  's  ordained,  why 
it  's  got  to  be,  ef  you  don't  lift  a  finger.  That 
'ere  's  so  now,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Sam  Lawson,  you  are  about  the  most  aggra- 
vating creature  I  ever  had  to  do  with.  Here 
you  've  got  our  clock  all  to  pieces,  and  have 
been  keeping  up  a  perfect  hurrah's  nest  in  our 
kitchen  for  three  days,  and  there  you  sit  maun- 
dering and  talking  with  your  back  to  your  work, 
fussin'  about  the  Millennium,  which  is  none  of 
your  business,  or  mine,  as  I  know  of  !  Do  either 
put  that  clock  together  or  let  it  alone  !  " 

"  Don't  you  be  a  grain  uneasy.  Miss  Lois. 
Why,  I  '11  have  your  clock  all  right  in  the  end, 
but  I  can't  be  druv.  Wall,  I  guess  I  '11  take 
another  spell  on  't  to-morrow  or  Friday." 

Poor  Aunt  Lois,  horror-stricken,  but  seeing 
herself  actually  in  the  hands  of  the  imperturba- 


102  HARRIET  BEECH ER    STOIVE. 

ble  enemy,  now  essayed  tlic  tack  of  concilia- 
tion. "  Now  do,  Lawson,  just  finish  up  this 
job,  and  I  '11  pay  you  down,  right  on  the  spot ; 
and  you  need  the  money." 

"  I  'd  like  to  'blige  ye,  Miss  Lois  ;  but  ye  see 
money  ain't  every  thing  in  this  world.  Ef  I 
work  tew  long  on  one  thing,  my  mind  kind  o' 
gives  out,  ye  see ;  and  besides,  I  've  got  some 
'sponsibilities  to  'tend  to.  There  's  Mrs.  Cap- 
tain Brown,  she  made  me  promise  to  come  to- 
day and  look  at  the  nose  o'  that  'ere  silver 
teapot  o'  hern  ;  it  's  kind  o'  sprung  a  leak. 
And  then  I  'greed  to  split  a  little  oven-wood 
for  the  Widdah  Pedee,  that  lives  up  on  the 
Shelburn  road.  Must  visit  the  widdahs  in 
their  afHiction,  Scriptur'  says.  And  then  there  's 
Hepsy  :  she  's  allers  castin'  it  up  at  me  that  I 
don't  do  nothing  for  her  and  the  chil'en  ;  but 
then,  lordy  massy,  Ilcpsy  hain't  no  sort  o'  pa- 
tience. Why  jest  this  mornin'  I  was  a  tclh'n' 
her  to  count  up  her  marcies,  and  I  'clare  for  't 
if  I  did  n't  think  she  'd  a  throwed  the  tongs  at 
me.  That  'ere  woman's  temper  railly  makes 
me  consarned.  Wal,  good-day.  Miss  Lois.  I  '11 
be  along  again  to-morrow  or  l-Viday  or  the  first 
o*  next  week."  And  away  he  went  with  long, 
loose  strides  down  the  village  street,  while  the 


SAM  LAW  SON.  IO3 


leisurely  wail  of  an   old   fuguing   tune   floated 
back  after  him, — 

"  Thy  years  are  an 
Eternal  day, 
Thy  years  are  an 
Eternal  day." 

"  An  eternal  torment,"  said  Aunt  Lois,  with 
a  snap.  "  I  'm  sure,  if  there  's  a  mortal  creature 
on  this  earth  that  I  pity,  it  's  Hepsy  Lawson. 
Folks  talk  about  her  scolding, — that  Sam  Law- 
son  is  enough  to  make  the  saints  in  Heaven  fall 
from  grace.  And  you  can't  do  any  thing  with 
him  :   it  's  like  charging  bayonet  into  a  wool- 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  Tina  and  I  drove 
over  to  Needmore  with  a  view  to  having 
one  more  gossip  with  Sam  Lawson.  Hepsy, 
it  appears,  had  departed  this  life,  and  Sam  had 
gone  over  to  live  with  a  son  of  his  in  Need- 
more.  We  found  him  roosting  placidly  in  the 
porch  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  house. 

"  Why,  lordy  massy,  bless  your  soul  an*  body, 
ef  that  ain't  Horace  Holyoke  !  "  he  said,  when 
he  recognized  who  I  was.  "  An'  this  'ere  's 
your  wife,  is  it  ?  Wal,  wal,  how  this  'ere  world 
does  turn  round  !     Wal,  now,  who  would  ha' 


104  HARRIET  BEECHER   STOIVE. 

thouglit  it  ?  Here  you  be,  and  Tiny  with  you. 
Wal,  wal." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  here  we  are." 

"  Wal,  now,  jest  sit  down,"  said  Sam,  mo- 
tioning us  to  a  seat  in  the  porch.  "  I  was  jest 
kind  o'  'flectin'  out  here  in  the  sun  ;  ben  a 
readin'  in  the  ]\Iissionary  Herald ;  they  've  ben 
a  sendin'  missionaries  to  Otawhity,  an'  they 
say  that  there  ain't  no  winter  there,  an'  the 
bread  jest  grows  on  the  trees,  so  't  they  don't 
hev  to  make  none,  an' there  ain't  no  wood-piles 
nor  splittin'  wood,  nor  nothin'  o'  that  sort  goin' 
on,  an'  folks  don't  need  no  clothes  to  speak  on. 
Now,  I  's  jest  thinkin'  that  'ere  's  jest  the 
country  to  suit  me.  I  wonder,  now,  ef  they 
could  n't  find  suthin'  for  me  to  do  out  there. 
I  could  shoe  the  bosses,  cf  they  had  any,  an'  I 
could  teach  the  natives  their  catechize,  an* 
kind  o'  help  round  gin'ally.  These  'ere  winters 
gits  so  cold  here  I  'm  e'en  a'most  crooked  up 
with  rheumatiz." 

"  Why,  Sam,"  said  Tina,  "  where  is  Hepsy?" 

"  Law,  now,  hain't  ye  heerd  ?  Why,  Ilepsy, 
she  's  been  dead,  wal,  let  me  see,  't  was  three 
year  the  fourteenth  o'  last  May  when  Ilepsy 
died,  but  she  was  clear  wore  out  afore  she  died. 
Wal,  jest  half  on  her  was  clear  paralyzed,  poor 


SAM  LAWSON.  105 


crittur  ;  she  could  n't  speak  a  word  ;  that  'ere 
was  a  gret  trial  to  her,  I  don't  think  she  was 
resigned  under  it.  Hepsy  hed  an  awful  sight 
o'  grit.  I  used  to  talk  to  Hepsy,  an'  talk,  an' 
try  to  set  things  afore  her  in  the  best  way  I 
could,  so  's  to  get  'er  into  a  better  state  o' 
mind.  D'  you  b'lieve,  one  day  when  I  'd  ben 
a  talkin'  to  her,  she  kind  o'  made  a  motion  to 
me  with  her  eye,  an'  when  I  went  up  to  'er, 
what  d'  you  think  ?  why,  she  jest  tuk  and  BIT 
me  !  she  did  so  !  " 

*'Sam,"  said  Tina,  "  I  sympathize  with  Hep- 
sy. I  believe  if  I  had  to  be  talked  to  an  hour, 
and  could  n't  answer,  I  should  bite." — Oldtozvn 
Folks. 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

(born,  1813.) 


DEACON    MARBLE. 

HOW  they  ever  made  a  deacon  out  of 
Jerry  Marble  I  never  could  imagine  ! 
His  was  the  kindest  heart  that  ever  bubbled 
and  ran  over.  He  was  elastic,  tough,  inces- 
santly active,  and  a  prodigious  worker.  He 
seemed  never  to  tire,  but  after  the  longest 
day's  toil,  he  sprang  up  the  moment  he  had 
done  with  work,  as  if  he  were  a  fine  steel 
spring.  A  few  hours'  sleep  sufficed  him,  and 
he  saw  the  morning  stars  the  year  round.  His 
weazened  face  was  leather  color,  but  forever 
dimpling  and  changing  to  keep  some  sort  of 
congruity  between  itself  and  his  eyes,  that 
winked  and  blinked,  and  spilt  over  with  merry 
good  nature.  He  always  seemed  afflicted  when 
obliged  to  be  sober.  He  had  been  known  to 
laugh  in  meeting  on  several  occasions,  although 
he   ran    his   face   behind  his  handkerchief,  and 

106 


DEACON  MARBLE.  \Oj 

coughed,  as  if  that  was  the  matter,  yet  nobody- 
believed  it.  Once,  in  a  hot  summer  day,  he 
saw  Deacon  Trowbridge,  a  sober  and  fat  man, 
of  great  sobriety,  gradually  ascending  from  the 
bodily  state  into  that  spiritual  condition  called 
sleep.  He  was  blameless  of  the  act.  He  had 
struggled  against  the  temptation  with  the 
whole  virtue  of  a  deacon.  He  had  eaten  two 
or  three  heads  of  fennel  in  vain,  and  a  piece  of 
orange  peel.  He  had  stirred  himself  up,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  minister  with  intense 
firmness,  only  to  have  them  grow  gradually 
narrower  and  milder.  If  he  held  his  head  up 
firmly,  it  would  with  a  sudden  lapse  fall  away 
over  backward.  If  he  leaned  it  a  little  forward, 
it  would  drop  suddenly  into  his  bosom.  At 
each  nod,  recovering  himself,  he  would  nod 
again,  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  to  impress 
upon  the  boys  that  he  did  it  on  purpose  both 
times. 

In  what  other  painful  event  of  life  has  a  good 
man  so  little  sympathy  as  when  overcome  with 
sleep  in  meeting  time  ?  Against  the  insidious 
seduction  he  arrays  every  conceivable  resist- 
ance. He  stands  up  awhile  ;  he  pinches  him- 
self, or  pricks  himself  with  pins.  He  looks  up 
helplessly  to  the  pulpit  as  if  some  succor  might 


loS  IJENRY  WARD  BEECH ER. 


come  thence.  He  crosses  his  legs  uncomforta- 
bly, and  attempts  to  recite  catechism,  or  the 
multiplication  table.  He  seizes  a  languid  fan, 
which  treacherouily  leaves  him  in  a  calm.  He 
tries  to  reason,  to  notice  the  phenomena. 
Oh,  that  one  could  carry  his  pew  to  bed 
with  him  !  What  tossing  wakefulness  there  ! 
what  fier}'-  chase  after  somnolency !  In  his 
lawful  bed  a  man  cannot  sleep,  and  in  his  pew 
he  cannot  keep  awake  !  Happy  man  who  does 
not  sleep  in  church  !  Deacon  Trowbridge  was 
not  that  man.     Deacon  Marble  was  ! 

Deacon  Marble  witnessed  the  conflict  we  have 
sketched  above,  and  when  good  Mr.  Trowbridge 
gave  his  next  lurch,  recovering  himself  with  a 
snort,  and  then  drew  out  a  red  handkerchief 
and  blew  his  nose  with  a  loud  imitation,  as  if 
to  let  the  boys  know  that  he  had  not  been 
asleep,  poor  Deacon  Marble  was  brought  to 
a  sore  strait.  But,  I  have  reason  to  think  that 
he  would  have  weathered  the  stress  if  it  had 
not  been  for  a  sweet-faced  little  boy  in  the  front 
of  the  galler>'.  The  lad  had  been  innocently 
watching  the  same  scene,  and  at  its  climax 
laughed  out  loud,  with  a  frank  and  musical 
explosion,  and  then  suddenly  disappeared  back- 
ward into  his  mother's  lap.    That  laugh  was  just 


THE  DEACON'S  TROUT.  IO9 

too  much,  and  Deacon  Marble  could  no  more 
help  laughing  than  could  Deacon  Trowbridge 
help  sleeping.  Nor  could  he  conceal  it.  Though 
he  coughed,  and  put  up  his  handkerchief  and 
hemmed  —  it  ivas  a  laugh — Deacon  !  —  and 
every  boy  in  the  house  knew  it,  and  liked  you 
better  for  it — so  inexperienced  were  they. — 
Norwood. 

THE   deacon's   trout. 

He  was  a  curious  trout.  I  believe  he  knew 
Sunday  just  as  well  as  Deacon  Marble  did.  At 
any  rate,  the  deacon  thought  the  trout  meant 
to  aggravate  him.  The  deacon,  you  know,  is  a 
little  waggish.  He  often  tells  about  that  trout. 
Sez  he,  "  One  Sunday  morning,  just  as  I  got 
along  by  the  willows,  I  heard  an  awful  splash, 
and  not  ten  feet  from  shore  I  saw  the 
trout,  as  long  as  my  arm,  just  curving  over 
like  a  bow,  and  going  down  with  something 
for  breakfast.  Gracious  !  says  I,  and  I  almost 
jumped  out  of  the  wagon.  But  my  wife  Polly, 
says  she,  '  What  on  airth  are  you  thinkin'  of, 
Deacon  ?  It  's  Sabbath  day,  and  you  're  goin' 
to  meetin'  !  It  's  a  pretty  business  for  a  dea- 
con! '  That  sort  o'  cooled  me  off.  But  I  do 
say  that,  for  about  a  minute,  I  wished  I  was  n't 


no  HENRY  WARD  BEECH ER. 

a  deacon.  But  't  would  n't  made  any  difference, 
for  I  came  down  next  day  to  mill  on  purpose, 
and  I  came  down  once  or  twice  more,  and 
nothin'  was  to  be  seen,  tho'  I  tried  him  with 
the  most  temptin'  things.  Wal,  next  Sunday 
I  came  along  agin,  and,  to  save  my  life  I 
could  n't  keep  off  worldly  and  wanderin' 
thoughts.  I  tried  to  be  sayin'  my  catechism, 
but  I  could  n't  keep  my  eyes  off  the  pond  as 
we  came  up  to  the  willows.  I  'd  got  along  in 
the  catechism,  as  smooth  as  the  road,  to  the 
Fourth  Commandment,  and  was  sayin'  it  out 
loud  for  Polly,  and  jist  as  I  was  sayin':  '  What 
is  required  in  tJic  Fourth  Commandvicnt  ? '  I 
heard  a  splash,  and  there  was  the  trout,  and, 
afore  I  could  think,  I  said  :  '  Gracious,  Polly,  I 
must  have  that  trout.'  She  almost  riz  right 
up,  '  I  knew  you  wan't  sayin'  your  catechism 
hearty.  Is  this  the  way  you  answer  the  ques- 
tion about  kecpin'  the  Lord's  day?  I  'm 
ashamed.  Deacon  Marble,'  says  she.  '  You  'd 
better  change  your  road,  and  go  to  mcetin'  on 
the  road  over  the  hill.  If  I  was  a  deacon,  I 
would  n't  let  a  fish's  tail  whisk  the  whole 
catechism  out  of  my  head  '  ;  and  I  had  to  go 
to  mectin'  on  tho  hill  road  all  the  rest  of  the 
summer.' ' — Norxvood. 


THE  DOG  NOBLE.  HI 


THE  DOG  NOBLE,  AND  THE  EMPTY  HOLE. 
The  first  summer  which  we  spent  in  Lenox, 
we  had  along  a  very  inteUigent  dog,  named 
Noble.  He  was  learned  in  many  things,  and  by 
his  dog-lore  excited  the  undying  admiration  of 
all  the  children.  But  there  were  some  things 
which  Noble  could  never  learn.  Having  on  one 
occasion  seen  a  red  squirrel  run  into  a  hole  in  a 
stone  wall,  he  could  not  be  persuaded  that  he 
was  not  there  forevermore. 

Several  red  squirrels  lived  close  to  the  house, 
and  had  become  familiar,  but  not  tame.  They 
kept  up  a  regular  romp  with  Noble.  They 
would  come  down  from  the  maple  trees  with 
provoking  coolness  ;  they  would  run  along  the 
fence  almost  within  reach  ;  they  would  cock 
their  tails  and  sail  across  the  road  to  the  barn  ; 
and  yet  there  was  such  a  well-timed  calculation 
under  all  this  apparant  rashness,  that  Noble  in- 
variably arrived  at  the  critical  spot  just  as  the 
squirrel  left  it. 

On  one  occasion  Noble  was  so  close  upon  his 
red-backed  friend  that,  unable  to  get  up  the 
maple-tree,  he  dodged  into  a  hole  in  the  wall, 
ran  through  the  chinks,  emerged  at  a  little  dis- 
tance and  sprung  into  the  tree.  The  intense 
enthusiasm  of  the  dog  at  that  hole  can  hardly 


112  HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 


be  described.  Ho  filled  it  full  of  barkin<^.  He 
pawed  and  scratched  as  if  undermining  a  bas- 
tion. Standing  off  at  a  little  distance,  he  would 
pierce  the  hole  with  a  gaze  as  intense  and  fixed 
as  if  he  were  trying  magnetism  on  it.  Then, 
with  tail  extended,  and,  every  hair  thereon 
electrified,  he  would  rush  at  the  empty  hole 
with  a  prodigious  onslaught. 

This  imaginary  squirrel  haunted  Noble  night 
and  day.  The  very  squirrel  himself  would  run 
up  before  his  face  into  the  tree,  and,  crouched 
in  a  crotch,  would  sit  silently  watching  the 
whole  process  of  bombarding  the  empty  hole, 
with  great  sobriety  and  relish.  But  Noble 
would  allow  of  no  doubts.  His  conviction  that 
that  hole  had  a  squirrel  in  it  continued  unshaken 
for  six  weeks.  When  all  other  occupations  failed, 
this  hole  remained  to  him.  When  there  were 
no  more  chickens  to  harry,  no  pigs  to  bite,  no 
cattle  to  chase,  no  children  to  romp  with,  no  ex- 
peditions to  make  with  the  grown  folks,  and 
when  he  had  slept  all  that  his  dogskin  would 
hold,  he  would  walk  out  of  the  yard,  yawn  and 
stretch  himself,  and  then  look  wistfully  at  the 
hole,  as  if  thinking  to  himself,  "Well,  as  there  is 
nothing  else  to  do,  I  may  as  well  try  that  hole 
again  !  " — Eyes  and  Ears. 


APPLE-PIE.  113 


APPLE-PIE. 

How  often  people  use  language  without  the 
slightest  sense  of  its  deep,  interior  meaning ! 
Thus,  no  phrase  is  more  carelessly  or  frequently- 
used  than  the  saying,  "Apple-pie  order  ^  How 
few  who  say  so  reflect  at  the  time  upon  either 
apple-pie  or  the  true  order  of  apple-pie  !  Per- 
haps they  have  been  reared  without  instruction. 
They  may  have  been  born  in  families  that  were 
ignorant  of  apple-pie  ;  or  who  were  left  to  the 
guilt  of  calling  two  tough  pieces  of  half-cooked 
dough,  with  a  thin  streak  of  macerated  dried 
apple  between  them,  of  leather  color,  and  of 
taste  and  texture  not  unbecoming  the  same, — 
an  apple-pie  !  But  from  such  profound  degra- 
dation of  ideas  we  turn  away  with  gratitude 
and  humility,  that  one  so  unworthy  as  we 
should  have  been  reared  to  better  thinsrs. 

We  are  also  affected  with  a  sense  of  regret 
for  duty  unperformed ;  for  great  as  have  been 
the  benefits  received,  we  have  never  yet  cele- 
brated as  we  ought  the  merits  of  apple-pie. 
That  reflection  shall  no  longer  cast  its  shadow 
upon  us. 

"  Henry,  go  down  cellar,  and  bring  me  up 
some  Spitzenbergs."  The  cellar  was  as  large 
as  the  whole  house,  and  the  house  was  broad 


114  HENRY  IVARD  BEECHER. 

as  a  small  pyramid.  The  north  side  was  \\\\\- 
dowlcss,  and  banked  up  outside  with  frost- 
defying  tan-bark.  The  south  side  had  win- 
dows, festooned  and  frescoed  with  the  webs  of 
spiders,  that  wove  their  tapestries  over  every 
corner  in  the  neighborhood,  and,  when  no  flies 
were  to  be  had,  ate  up  each  other,  as  if  they 
were  nothing  but  poUticians,  instead  of  being 
lawful  and  honorable  arachnidcs.  On  the  east 
side  stood  a  row  of  cider-barrels ;  for  twelve  or 
twent/  barrels  of  cider  were  a  fit  provision  for 
the  year, — and  what  was  not  consumed  for 
drink  was  expected  duly  to  turn  into  vinegar, 
and  was  then  exalted  to  certain  hogsheads  kept 
for  the  purpose.  But  along  the  middle  of  the 
cellar  were  the  apple-bins ;  and  when  the  sea- 
son had  been  propitious,  there  were  stores  and 
heaps  of  Russets,  Greenings,  Seeknofurthcrs, 
Pearmains,  Gilliflowers,  Spitzenbergs  and  many 
besides,  nameless,  but  not  virtueless.  Thence 
selecting,  we  duly  brought  up  the  apples. 
Some  people  think  any  thing  will  do  for  pies. 
But  the  best  for  eating  are  the  best  for  cooking. 
Who  would  make  jelly  of  any  other  apple,  that 
had  the  Porter  ?  who  would  bake  or  roast  any 
other  sweet  apple,  that  had  the  Ladies  Sweet- 
ing,— unless,  perhaps,  the   Tabnan  Sweet?  and 


APPLE-PIE.  115 


who  would  put  into  a  pie  any  apple  but  Spits- 
enberg,  that  had  that  ?  Off  with  their  jackets  ! 
Fill  the  great  wooden  bowl  with  the  sound 
rogues !  And  now,  O  cook !  which  shall  it 
be  ?  For  at  this  point  the  roads  diverge,  and 
though  they  all  come  back  at  length  to  apple- 
pie,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  indifference  which 
you  choose.  There  is,  for  example,  one  made 
without  under-crust,  in  a  deep  plate,  and  the 
apples  laid  in,  in  full  quarters ;  or  the  apples 
being  stewed  are  beaten  to  a  mush,  and  sea- 
soned, and  put  between  the  double  paste ;  or 
they  are  sliced  thin  and  cooked  entirely  within 
the  covers ;  or  they  are  put  without  seasoning 
into  their  bed,  and  when  baked,  the  upper  lid  is 
raised,  and  the  butter,  nutmeg,  cinnamon,  and 
sugar  are  added  ;  the  whole  well  mixed,  and  the 
crust  returned  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

But  O  be  careful  of  the  paste  !  Let  it  not 
be  like  putty,  nor  rush  to  the  other  extreme, 
and  make  it  so  flaky  that  one  holds  his  breath 
while  eating  for  fear  of  blowing  it  all  away. 
Let  it  not  be  plain  as  bread,  nor  yet  rich  like 
cake.  Aim  at  that  glorious  medium,  in  which 
it  is  tender  without  being  fugaciously  flaky; 
short,  without  being  too  short  ;  a  mild,  sapid, 
brittle  thing,  that  lies  upon  the  tongue,  so  as 


Il6  HENRY  WARD  BEECH ER. 


to  let  the  apple  strike  through  and  touch  the 
papilla  with  a  mere  effluent  flavor.  But  this, 
like  all  high  art,  must  be  a  thing  of  inspiration 
or  instinct.  A  true  cook  will  understand  us, 
and  we  care  not  if  others  do  not ! 

Do  not  suppose  that  we  limit  the  apple-pie 
to  the  kinds  and  methods  enumerated.  Its 
capacity  in  variation  is  endless,  and  every  di- 
versity discovers  some  new  charm  or  flavor.  It 
will  accept  almost  every  flavor  of  every  spice. 
And  yet  nothing  is  so  fatal  to  the  rare  and 
higher  graces  of  apple-pie  as  inconsiderate, 
vulgar  spicing.  It  is  not  meant  to  be  a  mere 
vehicle  for  the  exhibition  of  these  spices,  in 
their  own  natures.  It  is  a  glorious  unity  in 
which  sugar  gives  up  its  nature  as  sugar,  and 
butter  ceases  to  be  butter,  and  each  flavorsome 
spice  gladly  evanishes  from  its  own  full  nature, 
that  all  of  them,  by  a  common  death,  may  rise 
into  the  new  life  of  apple-pie  !  Not  that  apple 
is  longer  apple  !  //,  too,  is  transformed.  And 
the  final  pie,  though  born  of  apple,  sugar, 
butter,  nutmeg,  cinnamon,  lemon,  is  like  none 
of  these,  but  the  compound  ideal  of  them  all, 
refined,  purified,  and  by  fire  fixed  in  blissful 
perfection. 

But   all    exquisite   creations  are    short-lived. 


APPLE-PIE.  117 


The  natural  term  of  an  apple-pie  is  but  twelve 
hours.  It  reaches  its  highest  state  about  one 
hour  after  it  comes  from  the  oven,  and  just 
before  its  natural  heat  has  quite  departed. 
But  every  hour  afterward  is  a  declension. 
And  after  it  is  one  day  old,  it  is  thenceforward 
but  the  ghastly  corpse  of  apple-pie. 

But  while  it  is  yet  florescent,  white,  or 
creamy  yellow,  with  the  merest  drip  of  candied 
juice  along  the  edges  (as  if  the  flavor  were  so 
good  to  itself  that  its  own  lips  watered !)  of  a 
mild  and  modest  warmth,  the  sugar  suggesting 
jelly,  yet  not  jellied,  the  morsels  of  apple 
neither  dissolved  nor  yet  in  original  substance, 
but  hanging  as  it  were  in  a  trance  between  the 
spirit  and  the  flesh  of  applehood,  then,  when 
dinner  is  to  be  served  at  five  o'clock,  and  you 
are  pivotted  on  the  hour  of  one  with  a  ravening 
appetite,  let  the  good  dame  bring  forth  for 
luncheon  an  apple-pie,  with  cheese  a  year  old, 
crumbling  and  yet  moist,  but  not  with  base 
fluid,  but  oily  rather ;  then,  O  blessed  man, 
favored  by  all  the  divinities  !  eat,  give  thanks, 
and  go  forth,  "  in  apple-pie  order  !  " — Eyes  and 
Ears. 


JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

(born  1815 — DIED  1864.) 


OVID   BOLUS,   ESQ., 
ATTORNKY  AT   LAW    AND    SOLICITOR    IN    CHANCERY. 

A  Fragment. 
***** 

AND  wliat  history  of  that  halcyon  period, 
ranging  from  the  year  of  Grace  1835  to 
1837;  that  golden  era,  when  shin-plasters  were 
the  sole  currency  ;  when  bank-bills  were 

"  Thick  as  autumnal  leaves  that  strow  the  brooks 
In  Vallomhrosa," 

and  credit  was  a  franchise ; — what  history  of 
those  times  would  be  complete,  that  left  out 
the  name  of  Ovid  Bolus  ?  As  well  write  the 
biography  of  Prince  Hal,  and  forbear  all  men- 
tion of  Falstaff.  In  law  phrase,  the  thing 
would  be  a  "deed  without  a  name,"  and  void  ; 
a  most  unpardonable  casus  omissus. 

I  cannot   trace,  for  reasons  the  sequel  sug- 

118 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  II9 

gests,  the  early  history,  much  less  the  birth- 
place, pedigree,  and  juvenile  associations  of  this 
worthy.  Whence  he  or  his  forbears  got  his 
name  or  how,  I  don't  know ;  but  for  the  fact 
that  it  is  to  be  inferred  he  got  it  in  infancy,  I 
should  have  thought  he  borrowed  it ;  he  bor- 
rowed every  thing  else  he  ever  had,  such  things 
as  he  got  under  the  credit  system  only  ex- 
cepted ;  in  deference,  however,  to  the  axiom, 
that  there  is  some  exception  to  all  general  rules, 
I  am  willing  to  believe  that  he  got  this  much 
honestly,  by  bona-fide  gift  or  inheritance,  and 
without  false  pretence. 

I  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it  in  endeavoring 
to  assign  to  Bolus  his  leading  vice  ;  I  have 
given  up  the  task  in  despair;  but  I  have  es- 
sayed to  designate  that  one  which  gave  him,  in 
the  end,  most  celebrity.  I  am  aware  that  it  is 
invidious  to  make  comparisons,  and  to  give  pre- 
eminence to  one  over  other  rival  qualities  and 
gifts,  where  all  have  high  claims  to  distinction ; 
but,  then,  the  stern  justice  of  criticism,  in  this 
case,  requires  a  discrimination  which,  to  be  in- 
telligible and  definite,  must  be  relative  and 
comparative.  I,  therefore,  take  the  responsi- 
bility of  saying,  after  due  reflection,  that  in  my 
opinion,   Bolus's   reputation   stood    higher  for 


120  JOSEPH  C.  BALDWIN. 

lying  than  for  anything  else;  and  in  thus  as- 
signing pre-eminence  to  this  poetic  property,  I 
do  it  without  any  desire  to  derogate  from  other 
brilliant  characteristics  belonging  to  the  same 
general  category,  which  have  drawn  the  won- 
dering notice  of  the  world. 

Some  men  are  liars  from  interest ;  not  be- 
cause they  have  no  regard  for  truth,  but  because 
they  have  less  regard  for  it  than  for  gain ;  some 
are  liars  from  vanity,  because  they  would  rather 
be  well  thought  of  by  others,  than  have  reason 
for  thinking  well  of  themselves ;  some  are  liars 
from  a  sort  of  necessity,  which  overbears,  by 
the  weight  of  temptation,  the  sense  of  virtue; 
some  are  enticed  away  by  the  allurements  of 
pleasure,  or  seduced  by  evil  example  and  edu- 
cation. Bolus  was  none  of  these ;  he  belonged 
to  a  higher  department  of  the  fine  arts,  and  to 
a  higher  class  of  professors  of  this  sort  of  Belles- 
Lettres.  Bolus  was  a  natural  liar,  just  as  some 
horses  are  natural  pacers,  and  some  dogs  natu- 
ral setters.  What  he  did  in  that  walk,  was  from 
the  irresistible  promptings  of  instinct,  and  a 
disinterested  love  of  art.  His  genius  and  his 
performances  were  free  from  the  vulgar  alloy  of 
interest  or  temptation.  Accordingly,  he  did  not 
labor  a  lie  ;  he  lied  with  a  relish ;  he  lied  with 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  121 

a  coming  appetite,  growing  with  what  it  fed 
on ;  he  lied  from  the  dehght  of  invention  and 
the  charm  of  fictitious  narrative.  It  is  true  he 
apphed  his  art  to  the  practical  purposes  of  life ; 
but  in  so  far  did  he  glory  the  more  in  it ;  just 
as  an  ingenious  machinist  rejoices  that  his  in- 
vention, while  it  has  honored  science,  has  also 
supplied  a  common  want. 

Bolus's  genius  for  lying  was  encyclopediacal ; 
it  was  what  German  criticism  calls  many-sided. 
It  embraced  all  subjects  without  distinction  or 
partiality.  It  was  equally  good  upon  all,  "  from 
grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe." 

Bolus's  lying  came  from  his  greatness  of  soul 
and  his  comprehensiveness  of  mind.  The  truth 
was  too  small  for  him.  Fact  was  too  dry  and 
common-place  for  the  fervor  of  his  genius. 
Besides,  great  as  was  his  memory — for  he  even 
remembered  the  outlines  of  his  chief  lies — his 
invention  was  still  larger.  He  had  a  great  con- 
tempt for  history  and  historians.  He  thought 
them  tame  and  timid  cobblers ;  mere  tinkers 
on  other  people's  wares, — simple  parrots  and 
magpies  of  other  men's  sayings  or  doings ;  bor- 
rowers of  and  acknowledged  debtors  for  others' 
chattels,  got  without  skill ;  they  had  no  sepa- 
rate estate  in  their  ideas ;  they  were  bailees  of 


122  JOSEPH  G.  BALDIVIN. 

goods,  which  they  did  not  pretend  to  hold  by 
adverse  title  ;  buriers  of  talents  in  napkins 
making  no  usury;  barren  and  unprofitable  non- 
producers  in  the  intellectual  vineyard — nati 
consuincre  fritgcs. 

He  adopted  a  fact  occasionally  to  start  with, 
but,  like  a  Shefifield  razor  and  the  crude  ore, 
the  workmanship,  polish,  and  value  were  all  his 
own  ;  a  Thibet  shawl  could  as  well  be  credited 
to  the  insensate  goat  that  grew  the  wool,  as 
the  author  of  a  fact  Bolus  honored  with  his  ar- 
tistical  skill,  could  claim  to  be  the  inventor  of 
the  &tory. 

His  experiments  upon  credulity,  like  charity, 
began  at  home.  He  had  long  torn  down  the 
partition  wall  between  his  imagination  and  his 
memorj\  He  had  long  ceased  to  distinguish 
between  the  impressions  made  upon  his  mind 
by  what  c^xxno.  froui  it,  and  what  came  to  it ;  all 
ideas  were  facts  to  him. 

Bolus's  life  was  not  a  common  man's  life. 
His  world  was  not  the  hard,  work-day  world 
the  groundlings  live  in  ;  he  moved  in  a  sphere 
of  poetry ;  he  lived  amidst  the  ideal  and  ro- 
mantic. Not  that  he  was  not  practical  enough, 
when  he  chose  to  be ;  by  no  means.  He 
bought    goods    and    chattels,   lands    and    tene- 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  1 23 

merits,  like  other  men  ;  but  he  got  them  under 
a  state  of  poetic  illusion,  and  paid  for  them  in 
an  imaginary  way.  Even  the  titles  he  gave 
were  not  of  the  earthy  sort — they  were  some- 
times clouded.  He  gave  notes,  too, — how  well 
I  know  it  ! — like  other  men  ;  he  paid  them  like 
himself. 

How  well  he  asserted  the  Spiritual  over  the 
Material  !  How  he  delighted  to  turn  an  ab- 
stract idea  into  concrete  cash — to  make  a  few 
blots  of  ink,  representing  a  little  thought,  turn 
out  a  labor-saving  machine,  and  bring  into  his 
pocket  money  which  many  days  of  hard  ex- 
hausting labor  would  not  procure !  What 
pious  joy  it  gave  him  to  see  the  days  of  the 
good  Samaritan  return,  and  the  hard  hand  of 
avarice  relax  its  grasp  on  land  and  negroes, 
pork  and  clothes,  beneath  the  soft  speeches  and 
kind  promises  of  future  rewards — blending  in 
the  act  the  three  cardinal  virtues.  Faith,  Hope, 
and  Charity ;  while,  in  the  result,  the  chief  of 
these  three  was  Charity  I 

There  was  something  sublime  in  the  idea — 
this  elevating  the  spirit  of  man  to  its  true  and 
primeval  dominion  over  things  of  sense  and 
grosser  matter. 

It  is  true,  that  in  these  practical  romances, 


124  JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

Bolus  was  charged  with  a  defective  taste  in  re- 
peating himself.  The  justice  of  the  charge 
must  be,  at  least,  partially  acknowledged ;  this 
I  know  from  a  client,  to  whom  Ovid  sold  a 
tract  of  land  after  having  sold  it  twice  before : 
I  cannot  say,  though,  that  his  forgetting  to 
mention  this  circumstance  made  any  difference, 
for  Bolus  originally  had  no  title. 

There  was  nothing  narrow,  sectarian,  or  sec- 
tional in  Bolus's  lying.  It  was  on  the  contrary 
broad  and  catholic.  It  had  no  respect  to  times 
or  places.  It  was  as  wide  and  illimitable  as 
elastic,  and  variable  as  the  air  he  spent  in  giv- 
ing it  expression.  It  was  a  generous,  gentle- 
manly, whole-souled  faculty.  It  was  often 
employed  on  occasions  of  thrift  ;  but  no  more, 
and  no  more  zealously  on  these  than  on  others 
of  no  profit  to  himself.  He  was  an  Egotist, 
but  a  magnificent  one  ;  he  was  not  a  liar  be- 
cause an  egotist,  but  an  egotist  because  a  liar. 
He  usually  made  himself  the  hero  of  the  ro- 
mantic exploits  and  adventures  he  narrated  ; 
but  this  was  not  so  much  to  exalt  himself,  as 
because  it  was  more  convenient  to  his  art. 
He  had  nothing  malignant  or  invidious  in 
his  nature.  If  he  exalted  himself,  it  was  sel- 
dom or  never  to  the  disparagement  of  others, 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  1 25 


unless,  indeed,  those  others  were  merely  im- 
aginary persons,  or  too  far  off  to  be  hurt. 
He  would  as  soon  lie  for  you  as  for  himself. 
It  was  all  the  same,  so  there  was  something 
doing  in  his  line  of  business,  except  in  those 
cases  in  which  his  necessities  required  to  be  fed 
at  your  expense. 

He  did  not  confine  himself  to  mere  lingual 
lying :  one  tongue  was  not  enough  for  all  the 
business  he  had  on  hand.  He  acted  lies  as 
well.  Indeed,  sometimes  his  very  silence  was 
a  lie.  He  made  nonentity  fib  for  him,  and  per- 
formed wondrous  feats  by  a  "  masterly  inac- 
tivity." 

Th.Q  personnel  oi  this  distinguished  Votary  of 
the  Muse  was  happily  fitted  to  his  art.  He 
was  strikingly  handsome.  There  was  some- 
thing in  his  air  and  bearing  almost  princely, 
certainly  quite  distinguished.  His  manners 
were  winning,  his  address  frank,  cordial,  and 
flowing.  He  was  built  after  the  model  and 
structure  of  Bolingbroke  in  his  youth,  American- 
ized and  Hoosierized  a  little  by  "  raising  in,"  and 
an  adaptation  to,  the  Backwoods.  He  was 
fluent  but  choice  of  diction,  a  little  sonorous  in 
the  structure  of  his  sentences  to  give  effect  to  a 
voice   like   an    organ.      His   countenance   was 


126  JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

open  and  engaging,  usually  sedate  of  expres- 
sion, but  capable  of  any  modifications  at  the 
shortest  notice.  Add  to  this  his  intelligence, 
shrewdness,  tact,  humor,  and  that  he  was  a 
ready  debater  and  elegant  dcclaimcr,  and  had 
the  gift  of  bringing  out,  to  the  fullest  extent, 
his  resources,  and  you  may  see  that  Ovid,  in  a 
new  country,  was  a  man  apt  to  make  no  mean 
impression.  He  drew  the  loose  population 
around  him,  as  the  magnet  draws  iron  filings. 
He  was  a  man  for  the  "  boys," — then  a  numer- 
ous and  influential  class.  His  generous  profu- 
sion and  free-handed  manner  impressed  them 
as  the  bounty  of  Caesar  the  loafing  commonalty 
of  Rome  :  Bolus  was  no  niggard.  He  never 
higgled  or  chaffered  about  small  things.  He 
was  as  free  with  his  own  money — if  he  ever  had 
any  of  his  own — as  with  yours.  If  he  never 
paid  borrowed  money,  he  never  asked  payment 
of  others.  If  you  wished  him  to  lend  you  any, 
he  would  give  you  a  handful  without  counting 
it :  if  you  handed  him  any,  you  were  losing 
time  in  counting  it,  for  you  never  saw  any 
thing  of  it  again  ;  Shallow's  funded  debt  on 
Falstaff  were  as  safe  an  investment  :  this  would 
have  been  an  equal  commerce,  but,  unfortu- 
nately  for  Bolus's  friends,  the  proportion   be- 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  12/ 

tween  his  disbursements  and  receipts  was 
something  scant.  Such  a  spendthrift  never 
made  a  track  even  in  the  flush  times  of  1836. 
It  took  as  much  to  support  him  as  a  first-class 
steamboat.  His  bills  at  the  groceries  were  as 
long  as  John  Q.  Adams's  Abolition  Petition,  or, 
if  pasted  together,  would  have  matched  the 
great  Chartist  memorial.  He  would  as  soon 
treat  a  regiment  or  charter  the  grocery  for  the 
day,  as  any  other  way  ;  and  after  the  crowd  had 
heartily  drank — some  of  them  "  laying  their 
souls  in  soak," — if  he  did  not  have  the  money 
convenient — as  when  did  he  ? — he  would  fumble 
in  his  pocket,  mutter  something  about  nothing 
less  than  a  $100  bill,  and  direct  the  score,  with 
a  lordly  familiarity,  to  be  charged  to  his  ac- 
count. 

Ovid  had  early  possessed  the  faculty  of 
ubiquity.  He  had  been  born  in  more  places 
than  Homer.  In  an  hour's  discourse, //^  would, 
with  more  than  the  speed  of  Ariel,  travel  at 
every  point  of  the  compass,  from  Portland  to 
San  Antonio,  some  famous  adventure  always 
occurring  just  as  he  "  rounded  to,"  or  while 
stationary,  though  he  did  not  remain  longer 
than  to  see  it.  He  was  present  at  every  im- 
portant debate  in  the  Senate  at  Washington, 


128  JOSEPH  G.  BALD IV IN. 

and  had  heard  every  popuhir  speaker  on  the 
hustings,  at  the  bar,  and  in  the  pulpit,  in  the 
United  States.  He  had  been  concerned  in 
many  important  causes  with  Grymes  and 
against  Mazereau  in  New  Orleans,  and  had 
borne  no  small  share  in  the  fierce  forensic 
battles,  which,  with  singular  luck,  he  and 
Gr>'mes  always  won  in  the  courts  of  the  Cres- 
cent City.  And  such  frolics  as  they  had  when 
they  laid  aside  their  heavy  armor,  after  the 
heat  and  burden  of  the  day!  Such  gambling! 
A  negro  a7ite  and  twenty  on  the  call,  was 
moderate  playing.  What  lots  of  "  Ethiopian 
captives "  and  other  plunder  /ir  raked  down 
vexed  Arithmetic  to  count  and  credulity  to 
believe  ;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  Bolus's 
generosity  in  giving  "  tiie  boys"  a  chance 
to  win  back  by  doubling  off  on  tJie  JiigJi  hand, 
there  is  no  knowing  what  changes  of  owners 
would  not  have  occurred  in  the  Rapides  or 
on  the  German  coast. 

The  Florida  war  and  tlic  Texas  revolution, 
had  each  furnished  a  brilliant  theatre  for  Ovid's 
chivalrous  emprise.  Jack  Hays  and  he  were 
great  chums.  Jack  and  he  had  many  a  hearty 
laugh  over  tlie  odd  trick  of  Ovid,  in  lassoing 
a   Camanche    chief,    while    galloping   a    stolen 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  1 29 

horse  bare-backed,  up  the  San  Saba  hills.  But 
he  had  the  rig  on  Jack  again,  when  he  made 
him  charge  on  a  brood  of  about  twenty  Ca- 
manches,  who  had  got  into  a  mote  of  timber 
in  the  prairies,  and  were  shooting  their  arrows 
from  the  covert,  while  Ovid,  with  a  six-bar- 
relled rifle,  was  taking  them  on  the  wing  as 
Jack  rode  in  and  flushed  them  ! 

It  was  an  affecting  story  and  feelingly  told, 
that  of  his  and  Jim  Bowie's  rescuing  an  Am- 
erican girl  from  the  Apaches,  and  returning 
her  to  her  parents  in  St.  Louis ;  and  it  would 
have  been  still  more  tender,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  unfortunate  necessity  Bolus  was  un- 
der of  shooting  a  brace  of  gay  lieutenants  on 
the  border,  one  frosty  morning,  before  breakfast, 
back  of  the  fort,  for  taking  unbecoming  liberties 
with  the  fair  damosel,  the  spoil  of  his  bow  and 
spear. 

But  the  girls  Ovid  courted,  and  the  miraculous 
adventures  he  had  met  with  in  love,  beggared, 
by  the  comparison,  all  the  fortune  of  war  had 
done  for  him.  Old  Nugent's  daughter,  Sallie, 
was  his  narrowest  escape.  Sallie  was  accom- 
plished to  the  romantic  extent  of  two  ocean 
steamers,  and  four  blocks  of  buildings  in  Bos- 
ton, separated  only  from  immediate  "  percep- 


130  JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

tion  and  pernancy,"  by  the  contingency  of  old 
Nugcnt's  recovering  from  a  confirmed  dropsy, 
for  which  he  had  twice  been  ineffectually  tapped. 
The  day  was  set — the  presents  made — superb 
of  course — the  guests  invited  :  the  old  Sea  Cap- 
tain insisted  on  Bolus's  setting  his  negroes  free, 
and  taking  five  thousand  dollars  apiece  for  the 
loss.  Bolus's  love  for  the  **  peculiar  institu- 
tion "  would  n't  stand  it.  Rather  than  submit 
to  such  degradation,  Ovid  broke  off  the  match, 
and  left  Sallic  broken-hearted  ;  a  disease  from 
which  she  did  not  recover  until  about  six 
months  afterwards,  when  she  ran  off  with  the 
mate  of  her  father's  ship,  the  Sea  Serpent,  in 
the  Rio  trade. 

Gossip  and  personal  anecdote  were  the  espe- 
cial subjects  of  Ovid's  elocution.  lie  was  in- 
timate with  all  the  notabilities  of  the  political 
circles.  Me  was  a  privileged  visitor  of  the  po- 
litical green-room.  He  was  admitted  back  into 
the  laboratory  where  the  political  thunder  was 
manufactured,  and  into  the  office  where  the 
magnetic  wires  were  worked.  lie  knew  the 
origin  of  every  party  question  and  movement, 
and  had  a  finger  in  every  pie  the  party  cooks 
of  Tammany  baked  for  the  body  politic. 

One  thing  in  Ovid  I  can  never  forgive.    This 


OVJD  BOLUS,  ESQ.  13I 


was  his  coming  it  over  poor  Ben.  I  don't  ob- 
ject to  it  on  the  score  of  the  swindle.  That 
was  to  have  been  expected.  But  swindHng 
Ben  was  degrading  the  dignity  of  the  art. 
True,  it  illustrated  the  universality  of  his  sci- 
ence, but  it  lowered  it  to  a  beggarly  process 
of  mean  deception.  There  was  no  skill  in  it. 
It  was  little  better  than  crude  larceny.  A  child 
could  have  done  it ;  it  had  as  well  been  done  to 
a  child.  It  was  like  catching  a  cow  with  a 
lariat,  or  setting  a  steel  trap  for  a  pet  pig. 
True,  Bolus  had  nearly  practised  out  of  cus- 
tom. He  had  worn  his  art  threadbare.  Men, 
who  could  afford  to  be  cheated,  had  all  been 
worked  up  or  been  scared  away.  Besides,  Frost 
could  n't  be  put  off.  He  talked  of  money  in  a 
most  ominous  connection  with  blood.  The 
thing  could  be  settled  by  a  bill  of  exchange. 
Ben's  name  was  unfortunately  good  —  the 
amount  some  $1,600.      Ben   had  a   fine   tract 

of  land  in  S r.     He  has  not  got  it   now. 

Bolus  only  gave  Ben  one  wrench — that  was 
enough.  Ben  never  breathed  easy  afterwards. 
All  the  V's  and  X's  of  ten  years'  hard  practice, 
went  in  that  penful  of  ink.  Fie !  Bolus,  Mon- 
roe Edwards  would  n't  have  done  that.  He 
would  sooner  have  sunk  down  to  the  level  of 


JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 


some  honest  calling  for  a  living,  than  have  put 
his  profession  to  so  mean  a  shift.  I  can  con- 
ceive of  but  one  extenuation  :  Bolus  was  on 
the  lift  for  Texas,  and  the  desire  was  natural 
to  qualify  himself  for  citizenship. 

The  genius  of  Bolus,  strong  in  its  unassisted 
strength,  yet  gleamed  out  more  brilliantly 
under  the  genial  influence  of  "  the  rosy."  With 
boon  companions  and  "  reaming  swats,"  it  was 
worth  while  to  hear  him  of  a  winter  evening. 
He  could  "clothe  the  palpable  and  the  familiar 
with  golden  exhalations  of  the  dawn."  The 
most  common-place  objects  became  dignified. 
There  was  a  history  to  the  commonest  articles 
about  him  ;  that  book  was  given  him  by  Mr. 
Van  Buren — the  walking  stick  was  a  present 
from  Gen.  Jackson;  the  thrice-watered  Monon- 
gahela,  just  drawn  from  the  grocery  hard  by, 
was  the  last  of  a  distillation  of  1825,  smuggled 
in  from  Ireland,  and  presented  to  him  by  a 
friend  in  New  Orleans,  on  easy  terms  with  the 
collector  ;  the  cigars,  not  too  fragrant,  were  of 
a  bo-x  sent  him  by  a  schoolmate  from  Cuba,  in 
1834 — before  he  visited  the  Island.  And  talk- 
ing of  Cuba — he  had  met  with  an  adventure 
there,  the  impression  of  which  never  could  be 
effaced  from  his  mind.     He  had  gone,  at  the 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  I  33 

instance  of  Don  Carlos  y  Cubanos,  (an  intimate 
classmate  in  a  Kentucky  Catholic  College,) 
whose  life  he  had  saved  from  a  mob  in  Louis- 
ville, at  the  imminent  risk  of  his  own.  The 
Don  had  a  sister  of  blooming  sixteen,  the 
least  of  whose  charms  was  two  or  three  coffee 
plantations,  some  hundreds  of  slaves,  and  a 
suitable  garnish  of  doubloons,  accumulated 
during  her  minority,  in  the  hands  of  her  uncle 
and  guardian,  the  Captain-General.  All  went 
well  with  the  young  lovers — for  such,  of  course, 
they  were — until  Bolus,with  his  usual  frank  indis- 
cretion, in  a  conversation  with  the  Priest  avowed 
himself  a  Protestant.  Then  came  trouble. 
Every  effort  was  made  to  convert  him  ;  but 
Bolus's  faith  resisted  the  eloquent  tongue  of  the 
Priest,  and  the  more  eloquent  eyes  of  Donna 
Isabella.  The  brother  pleaded  the  old  friend- 
ship— urged  a  seeming  and  formal  conformity 
— the  Captain-General  argued  the  case  like  a 
politician — the  Sefiorita  like  a  warm  and  devoted 
woman.  All  would  not  do.  The  Captain-Gen- 
eral forbade  his  longer  sojourn  on  the  Island. 
Bolus  took  leave  of  the  fair  Sefiorita  ;  the  part- 
ing interview,  held  in  the  orange  bower,  was 
affecting ;  Donna  Isabella,  with  dishevelled 
hair,    threw    herself    at    his    feet ;    the    tears 


134  JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

Streamed  from  her  eyes  ;  in  liquid  tones,  broken 
by  grief,  she  implored  him  to  relent,  reminded 
him  of  her  love,  of  her  trust  in  him.  "  Gentle- 
men," Bolus  continued,  "  I  confess  to  the 
weakness — I  wavered — but  then  my  eyes  hap- 
pened to  fall  on  the  breast-pin  with  a  lock  of 
my  mother's  hair — I  recovered  my  courage  ;  I 
shook  her  gently  from  me.  I  felt  my  last  hold 
on  earth  was  loosened — my  last  hope  of  peace 
destroyed.  Since  that  hour,  my  life  has  been  a 
burden.  Yes,  gentlemen,  you  see  before  you  a 
broken-hearted  man — a  martyr  to  his  Religion. 
But,  away  with  these  melancholy  thoughts ! 
boys,  pass  around  the  jorum."  And  wiping  his 
eyes,  he  drowned  the  wasting  sorrow  in  a  long 
draught  of  the  poteen  ;  and,  being  much  re- 
freshed, was  able  to  carry  the  burden  on  a  little 
further, — videlicet,  to  the  next  lie. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Bolus  was  des- 
titute of  the  tame  virtue  of  prudence — or  that 
this  was  confined  to  the  avoidance  of  the  im- 
provident habit  of  squandering  his  money  in 
paying  old  debts.  He  took  reasonably  good 
care  of  his  person.  He  avoided  all  unnecessary 
exposures,  chiefly  from  a  patriotic  desire,  prob- 
ably, of  continuing  his  good  offices  to  his  coun- 
try.    Mis  recklessness  was,  for  the  most  part, 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  1 35 

lingual.  To  hear  him  talk,  one  might  suppose 
he  held  his  carcass  merely  for  a  target  to  try 
guns  and  knives  upon  ;  or  that  the  business  of 
his  life  was  to  draw  men  up  to  ten  paces  or  less, 
for  sheer  improvement  in  marksmanship.  Such 
exploits  as  he  had  gone  through  with,  dwarfed 
the  heroes  of  romance  to  very  pigmy  and  sneak- 
ing proportions.  Pistol  at  the  Bridge,  when  he 
bluffed  at  honest  Fluellen,  might  have  envied 
the  swash-buckler  airs  Ovid  would  sometimes 
put  on.  But  I  never  could  exactly  identify  the 
place  he  had  laid  out  for  his  burying-ground. 
Indeed,  I  had  occasion  to  know  that  he  de- 
clined to  understand  several  not  very  ambigu- 
ous hints,  upon  which  he  might,  with  as  good  a 
grace  as  Othello,  have  spoken,  not  to  mention 
one  or  two  pressing  invitations  which  his  mod- 
esty led  him  to  refuse.  I  do  not  know  that 
the  base  sense  of  fear  had  any  thing  to  do  with 
these  declinations ;  possibly  he  might  have 
thought  he  had  done  his  share  of  fighting,  and 
did  not  wish  to  monopolize  ;  or  his  principles 
forbade  it — I  mean  those  which  opposed  his 
paying  a  debt ;  knowing  he  could  not  cheat 
that  inexorable  creditor,  Death,  of  his  claim,  he 
did  the  next  thing  to  it  ;  which  was  to  delay 
and  shirk  payment  as  long  as  possible. 


136  JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

It  remains  to  add  a  word  of  criticism  on  this 
great  Lyx\z  artist. 

In  lying,  Bolus  was  not  only  a  successful,  but 
he  was  a  very  able  practitioner.  Like  every 
other  eminent  artist,  he  brought  all  his  faculties 
to  bear  upon  his  art.  Though  quick  of  percep- 
tion and  prompt  of  invention,  he  did  not  trust 
himself  to  the  inspirations  of  his  genius  for  im- 
provising a  lie,  when  he  could  well  premeditate 
one.  He  deliberately  built  up  the  substantial 
masonry,  relying  upon  the  occasion  and  its 
accessories,  chiefly  for  embellishment  and  col- 
lateral supports ;  as  Burke  excogitated  the 
more  solid  parts  of  his  great  speeches,  and  left 
unprepared  only  the  illustrations  and  fancy- 
work. 

Bolus's  manner  was,  like  every  truly  great 
man's,  his  own.  It  was  excellent.  He  did  not 
come  blushing  up  to  a  lie,  as  some  otherwise 
very  passable  liars  do,  as  if  he  were  making  a 
mean  compromise  between  his  guilty  passion 
or  morbid  vanity,  and  a  struggling  conscience. 
Bolus  had  long  since  settled  all  disputes  with 
his  conscience.  He  and  it  were  on  very  good 
terms — at  least,  if  there  was  no  affection  be- 
tween the  couple,  there  was  no  fuss  in  the 
family;  or,  if  there  were  any  scenes  or  angry 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  1 37 

passages,  they  were  reserved  for  strict  privacy 
and  never  got  out.  My  own  opinion  is,  that  he 
was  as  destitute  of  the  article  as  an  ostrich. 
Thus  he  came  to  his  work  bravely,  cheerfully, 
and  composedly.  The  delights  of  composition, 
invention,  and  narration,  did  not  fluster  his 
style  or  agitate  his  delivery.  He  knew  how,  in 
the  tumult  of  passion,  to  assume  the  **  temper- 
ance to  give  it  smoothness."  A  lie  never  ran 
away  with  him,  as  it  is  apt  to  do  with  young 
performers  ;  he  could  always  manage  and  guide 
it ;  and  to  have  seen  him  fairly  mounted,  would 
have  given  you  some  idea  of  the  polished  ele- 
gance of  D'Orsay,  and  the  superb  manage  of 
Murat.  There  is  a  tone  and  manner  of  narra- 
tion different  from  those  used  in  delivering  ideas 
just  conceived  ;  just  as  there  is  a  difference  be- 
tween the  sound  of  the  voice  in  reading  and  in 
speaking.  Bolus  knew  this,  and  practised  on 
it.  When  he  was  narrating,  he  put  the  facts  in 
order,  and  seemed  to  speak  them  out  of  his 
memory ;  but  not  formally,  or  as  if  by  rote. 
He  would  stop  himself  to  correct  a  date  ;  recol- 
lect he  was  wrong — he  was  that  year  at  the 
White  Sulphur  or  Saratoga,  etc.;  having  got  the 
date  right,  the  names  of  persons  present  would 
be  incorrect,   etc.;  and    these   he    corrected  in 


138  JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

turn.  A  stranger  hearing  him,  would  have 
feared  the  marring  of  a  good  story  by  too  fas- 
tidious a  conscientiousness  in  the  narrator. 

His  zeal  in  pursuit  of  a  lie  under  difficulties 
was  remarkable.  The  society  around  him — if 
such  it  could  be  called — was  hardly  fitted,  with- 
out some  previous  preparation,  for  an  immedi- 
ate introduction  to  Almack's  or  the  classic 
precincts  of  Gore  Plouse.  The  manners  of  the 
natives  were  rather  plain  than  ornate,  and  can- 
dor rather  than  polish  predominated  in  their 
conversation.  Bolus  had  need  of  some  forbear- 
ance to  withstand  the  interruptions  and  cross- 
examinations  with  which  his  revelations  were 
sometimes  received.  But  he  possessed  this  in  a 
remarkable  degree.  I  recollect,  on  one  occasion, 
when  he  was  giving  an  account  of  a  providen- 
tial escape  he  was  signally  favored  with,  (when 
boarded  by  a  pirate  off  the  Isle  of  Pines,  and  he 
pleaded  mason r}',  and  gave  a  sign  he  had  got 
out  of  the  Disclosures  of  Morgan,)  Tom  John- 
son interrupted  him  to  say  that  he  had  heard 
that  before  (which  was  more  than  Bolus  had 
ever  done).  B.  immediately  rejoined  that  he 
had,  he  believed,  given  him,  Tom,  a  running 
sketch  of  the  incident.  "  Rather,"  said  Tom, 
"  I  think  a  /j'/;/o- sketch."    Bolus  scarcely  smiled 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  1 39 

as  he  replied  that  Tom  was  a  wag,  and  could  n't 
help  turning  the  most  serious  things  into  jests; 
and  went  on  with  his  usual  brilliancy  to  finish 
the  narrative.  Bolus  did  not  overcrowd  his  can- 
vas. His  figures  were  never  confused,  and  the 
subordinates  and  accessories  did  not  withdraw 
attention  from  the  main  and  substantive  lie. 
He  never  squandered  his  lies  profusely ;  think- 
ing, with  the  poet,  that  "  bounteous,  not  prodi- 
gal, is  kind  Nature's  hand,"  he  kept  the  golden 
mean  between  penuriousness  and  prodigality; 
never  stingy  of  his  lies,  he  was  not  wasteful  of 
them,  but  was  rather  forehanded  than  pushed 
or  embarrassed,  having,  usually,  fictitious  stock 
to  be  freshly  put  on  'change  when  he  wished  to 
"  make  a  raise."  In  most  of  his  fables  he  incul- 
cated but  a  single  leading  idea,  but  contrived 
to  make  the  several  facts  of  the  narrative  fall  in 
very  gracefully  with  the  principal  scheme. 

The  rock  on  which  many  promising  young 
liars,  who  might  otherwise  have  risen  to 
merited  distinction,  have  split,  is  vanity;  this 
marplot  vice  betrays  itself  in  the  exultation 
manifested  on  the  occasion  of  a  decided  hit,  an 
exultation  too  inordinate  for  mere  recital,  and 
which  betrays  authorship  ;  and  to  betray  author- 
ship, in  the  present  barbaric  moral  and  intellec- 


I40  JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

tual  condition  of  the  world,  is  fatal.  True,  there 
seems  to  be  some  inconsistency  here.  Dickens 
and  Bulwer  can  do  as  much  lying,  for  money,  too, 
as  they  choose  and  no  one  blame  them  any 
more  than  they  would  blame  a  lawyer  regular- 
ly fcedio  do  it ;  but  let  any  man,  gifted  with 
the  same  genius,  try  his  hand  at  it,  not  delib- 
erately, and  in  writing,  but  merely  orally,  and 
ugly  names  are  given  him,  and  he  is  proscribed. 
Bolus  heroically  suppressed  exultation  over 
the  victories  his  lies  achieved, 

Alas!  for  the  beautiful  things  of  earth,  its 
flowers,  its  sunsets — its  lovely  girls — its  lies — 
brief  and  fleeting  arc  their  date.  Lying  is  a 
very  delicate  accomplishment.  It  must  be  ten- 
derly cared  for  and  jealously  guarded.  It  must 
not  be  overvvorked.  Bolus  forgot  this  salutary 
caution.  The  people  found  out  his  art.  How- 
ever dull  the  commons  are  as  to  other  mat- 
ters, they  get  sharp  enough  after  a  while  to 
whatever  concerns  their  bread  and  butter. 
Bolus,  not  having  confined  his  art  to  political 
matters,  sounded  at  last  the  depths  and  explored 
the  limits  of  popular  credulity.  The  denizens 
of  this  degenerate  age  had  not  the  disinterested- 
ness of  Prince  Hal,  who  "  cared  not  how  many 
fed    at   his  cost";  they  got    tired    at    last    of 


OVID  BOLUS,  ESQ.  I4I 

promises  to  pay.  The  credit  system,  common 
before  as  pump  water,  adhering  like  the  elective 
franchise  to  every  voter,  began  to  take  the 
worldly  wisdom  of  Falstaff's  mercer,  and  ask 
security,  and  security  liked  something  more 
substantial  than  plausible  promises.  In  this 
forlorn  condition  of  the  country,  returning  to 
its  savage  state,  and  abandoning  the  refine- 
ments of  a  ripe  Anglo-Saxon  civilization  for 
the  sordid  safety  of  Mexican  or  Chinese  modes 
of  traffic  ;  deserting  the  sweet  simplicity  of  its 
ancient  trustingness  and  the  poetic  illusions  of 
Augustus  .Tomlinson  for  the  vulgar  saws  of 
poor  Richard — Bolus,  with  a  sigh  like  that 
breathed  out  by  his  great  prototype  after  his 
apostrophe  to  London,  gathered  up,  one  bright 
moonlight  night,  his  articles  of  value,  shook 
the  dust  from  his  feet,  and  departed  from  a 
land  unworthy  of  his  longer  sojourn.  With 
that  delicate  consideration  for  the  feelings  of 
his  friends,  which,  like  the  politeness  of  Charles 
II.,  never  forsook  him,  he  spared  them  the  pain 
of  a  parting  interview.  He  left  no  greetings  of 
kindness,  no  messages  of  love,  nor  did  he  ask 
assurances  of  their  Hvely  remembrance.  It 
was  quite  unnecessary.  In  every  house  he  had 
left  an  autograph,  in  every  ledger  a  souvenir. 


142  JOSEPH  G.  BALDWIN. 

They  will  never  forget  him.     Their  connection 
with  him  will  be  ever  regarded  as 

' '  The  greenest  spot 


In  nienior)''s  waste." 

Poor  Ben,  whom  he  had  honored  with  the 
last  marks  of  his  confidence,  can  scarcely  speak 
of  him  to  this  day,  without  tears  in  his  eyes. 
Far  away  towards  the  setting  sun  he  hied  him, 
until,  at  last,  with  a  hermit's  disgust  at  the  deg- 
radation of  the  world,  like  Ignatius  turned 
monk,  he  pitched  his  tabernacle  amidst  the 
smiling  prairies  that  sleep  in  vernal  beauty,  in 
the  shadow  of  the  San  Saba  mountains. 
There  let  his  mighty  genius  rest.  It  has  earned 
repose.  We  leave  Themistocles  to  his  volun- 
tary exile. —  TJie  Flush  Times  of  Alabama  and 
Mississippi. 


FREDERICK   WILLIAM  SHELTON. 

(born  1815 — DIED  188I.) 


INCIDENTS   IN   A   RETIRED   LIFE. 

LAST  year  I  had  a  solitary  peach  upon  a 
soHtary  tree,  for  the  early  frost  frustra- 
ted the  delicious  crop.  This  only  one,  which, 
from  its  golden  color,  might  be  entitled  El 
Dorado,  I  watched  with  fear  and  trembling 
from  day  to  day,  patiently  waiting  for  the  iden- 
tical time  when  I  should  buoy  it  up  carefully 
in  my  hand,  that  its  pulp  should  not  be  bruised, 
tear  off  its  thin  peel,  admonished  that  the  time 
had  come  by  a  gradual  releasing  of  the  fruit 
from  its  adhesion  to  the  stem,  and  I  appointed 
the  next  day  for  the  ceremonial  of  plucking. 
The  morrow  dawned,  as  bright  a  day  as  ever 
dawned  upon  the  earth,  and  on  a  near  approach 
I  found  it  still  there,  and  said,  with  chuckling 
gratification,"  There  is  some  delicacy  in  thieves." 
Alas !  on  reaching  it,  somebody  had  taken  a 
large  bite  out  of  the  ripest  cheek,  but  with  a  sac- 

143 


144         FREDERICK  WILLIAM  SHELTOX. 

rilegious  witticism  had  left  it  sticking  to  the 
stem.  The  detestable  prints  of  the  teeth  which 
bit  it  were  still  in  it,  and  a  wasp  was  gloating 
at  its  core.  Had  he  taken  the  whole  peach,  I 
should  have  vented  my  feelings  in  a  violence 
of  indignation  unsuited  to  a  balmy  garden. 
But  as  he  was  joker  enough  to  bite  only  its 
sunny  side,  I  must  forgive  him,  as  one  who  has 
some  element  of  salvation  in  his  character,  be- 
cause he  is  disposed  to  look  at  the  bright  side 
of  things.  What  is  a  peach  }  A  mere  globe 
of  succulent  and  delicious  pulp,  which  I  would 
rather  be  deprived  of  than  cultivate  bad  feelings, 
even  towards  thieves.  Wherever  you  find 
rogues  whose  deeds  involve  a  saline  element  of 
wit,  make  up  your  mind  that  they  are  no 
rogues. —  Up  the  River. 

This  morning  the  Shanghai  hen  laid  another 
egg,  of  a  rich  brunette  complexion,  which  we 
took  away,  and  replaced  by  a  common  vulgar 
egg,  intending  to  reserve  the  Shanghai's  in  a 
cool  place  until  the  time  of  incubation.  Very 
much  amused  was  I  witli  the  sequel.  The 
proud  and  haughty  superiority  of  the  breed 
manifested  itself  by  detecting  the  cheat  and 
resenting  the  insult.  Shang  and  Eng  flew  at 
the  supposititious  egg  with  the  utmost  indigna- 


INCIDENTS  IN  A   RETIRED  LITE.        1 45 

tion  and  picked  it  to  pieces,  scratching  the  rem- 
nants of  the  shell  from  the  nest.  .  .  .  There 
is  one  peculiarity  of  these  fowls  which  deserves 
to  be  mentioned.  When  I  removed  mine  from 
the  basket,  I  thought  that  the  worthy  donor 
had  clipped  their  wings  to  prevent  them  from 
flying  away,  or  scaling  the  hennery.  On  farther 
knowledge  I  have  learned  that  their  style  and 
fashion  is  that  of  the  jacket-sleeve  and  bob-tail 
coat.  Their  eminent  domesticity  is  clearly  sig- 
nified by  this,  because  they  cannot  get  over  an 
ordinary  fence,  and  would  not  if  they  could. 
It  is  because  they  have  no  disposition  to  do 
this,  that  Nature  has  cropt  them  of  their  super- 
fluous wings,  and  given  them  a  plumage  suit- 
able to  their  desires.  "  Their  sober  wishes  never 
learn  to  stray."  They  often  come  into  the 
kitchen,  but  never  go  abroad  to  associate  with 
common  fowls,  but  remain  at  home  in  dignified 
retirement.  Another  thing  remarkable  and 
quite  renowned  about  this  breed  is,  the  Oriental 
courtesy  and  politeness  of  the  cock.  If  you 
throw  a  piece  of  bread,  he  waits  till  the  hen 
helps  herself  first,  and  often  carries  it  to  her  in 
his  own  beak.  The  feathered  people  in  the 
East,  and  those  not  feathered,  are  far  superior 
to  ours  ip  those  elaborate  and  delightful  forms 


146         FREDERICK  WILLIAM  SI  I  ELTON. 


of  manner  which  add  a  charm  and  zest  to  life. 
This  has  been  from  the  days  of  Abraham  until 
now.  There  are  no  common  people  in  these 
realms.  All  are  polite,  and  the  very  roosters 
illustrate  the  best  principles  laid  down  in  any 
book  of  etiquette.  Book  of  Etiquette  !  What 
is  conventionalism  without  the  in-born  sense  ? 
Can  any  man  or  beast  be  taught  to  be  mechani- 
cally polite  ?     Not  at  all  :  not  at  all  !     .     .     . 

I  have  received  a  present  of  a  pair  of  Cochin- 
Chinas,  a  superb  cock  and  a  dun-colored  hen. 
I  put  them  with  my  other  fowls  in  the  cellar,  to 
protect  them  for  a  short  time  from  the  severity 
of  the  weather.  My  Shanghai  rooster  had  for 
several  nights  been  housed  up  ;  for  on  one  occa- 
sion, when  the  cold  was  snapping,  he  was  dis- 
covered under  the  lee  of  a  stone  wall,  standing 
on  one  leg,  taking  no  notice  of  the  approach 
of  any  one,  and  nearly  gone.  When  brought 
in,  he  backed  up  against  the  red-hot  kitchen- 
stove,  and  burnt  his  tail  off.  Before  this  he  had 
no  feathers  in  the  rear  to  speak  of,  and  now  he 
is  bob-tailed  indeed.  Anne  sewed  upon  him  a 
jacket  of  carpet,  and  put  him  in  a  tea-box  for 
the  night ;  and  it  was  ludicrous  on  the  next 
morning  to  sec  him  lifting  up  his  head  above 
the  square  prison-box,  and  crowing  lustily  to 


INCIDENTS  IN  A    RETIRED  LIFE.        1 47 

greet  the  day.  But  before  breakfast-time  he 
had  a  dreadful  fit.  He  retreated  against  the 
wall,  he  fell  upon  his  side,  he  kicked,  and  he 
"carried  on";  but  when  the  carpet  was  taken 
off,  he  came  to  himself,  and  ate  corn  with  a  vora- 
cious appetite.  His  indisposition  was,  no  doubt, 
occasioned  by  a  rush  of  blood  to  the  head  from 
the  tightness  of  the  bandages.  When  Shanghai 
and  Cochin  met  together  in  the  cellar,  they 
enacted  in  that  dusky  hole  all  the  barbarities  of 
a  profane  cockpit.  I  heard  a  sound  as  if  from 
the  tumbling  of  barrels,  followed  by  a  dull, 
thumping  noise,  like  spirit-rappings,  and  went 
below,  where  the  first  object  which  met  my  eye 
was  a  mouse  creeping  along  the  beam  out  of 
an  excavation  in  my  pine-apple  cheese.  As  for 
the  fowls,  instead  of  salutation  after  the  re- 
spectful manner  of  their  country — which  is 
expressed  thus :  Shang  knocks  knees  to  Cochin, 
bows  three  times,  touches  the  ground,  and 
makes  obeisance — they  were  engaged  in  a 
bloody  fight,  unworthy  of  celestial  poultry. 
With  their  heads  down,  eyes  flashing,  and  red 
as  vipers,  and  with  a  feathery  frill  or  ruffle 
about  their  necks,  they  were  leaping  at  each 
other,  to  see  who  should  hold  dominion  over 
the  ash-heap.     It  put  me  exactly  in  mind  of 


148         FREDERICK  WILLIAM   SH ELTON. 

two  Scythians  or  two  Greeks  in  America,  where 
each  wished  to  be  considered  the  only  Scythian 
or  only  Greek  in  the  country.  A  contest 
or  emulation  is  at  all  times  highly  animating 
and  full  of  zest,  whether  two  scholars  write, 
two  athletes  strive,  two  boilers  strain,  or  two 
cocks  fight.  Every  lazy  dog  in  the  vicinity  is 
immediately  at  hand.  I  looked  on  until  I  saw 
the  Shanghai's  peepers  darkened,  and  his  comb 
streaming  with  blood.  These  birds  contended 
for  some  days  after  for  pre-eminence,  on  the 
lawn,  and  no  flinching  could  be  observed  on 
either  part,  although  the  Shanghai  was  by  one- 
third  the  smaller  of  the  two.  At  last  the  latter 
was  thoroughly  mortified  ;  his  eyes  wavered  and 
wandered  vaguely,  as  he  stood  opposite  the  foe  ; 
he  turned  tail  and  ran.  From  that  moment  he 
became  the  veriest  coward,  and  submitted  to 
every  indignity  without  attempting  to  resist. 
He  suffered  himself  to  be  chased  about  the 
lawn,  fled  from  the  Indian  meal,  and  was  almost 
starved.  Such  submission  on  his  part  at  last 
resulted  in  peace,  and  the  two  rivals  walked 
side  by  side  without  fighting,  and  ate  together, 
with  a  mutual  concession,  of  the  corn.  This, 
in  turn,  engendered  a  degree  of  presumption 
on   the  part  of    the   Shanghai   cock;  and  one 


INCIDENTS  IN  A   RETIRED  LIFE.       1 49 

day,  when  the  dew  sparkled  and  the  sun  shone 
peculiarly  bright,  he  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to 
ascend  a  hillock  and  venture  on  a  tolerably 
triumphant  crow.  It  showed  a  lack  of  judg- 
ment ;  his  cock-a-doodle-doo  proved  fatal. 
Scarcely  had  he  done  so,  when  Cochin-China 
rushed  upon  him,  tore  out  his  feathers,  and 
flogged  him  so  severely  that  it  was  doubtful 
whether  he  would  remain  with  us.  Now,  alas  ! 
he  presents  a  sad  spectacle  :  his  comb  frozen 
off,  his  tail  burnt  off,  and  his  head  knocked  to 
a  jelly.  While  the  corn  jingles  in  the  throats 
of  his  compeers  when  they  eagerly  snap  it,  as 
if  they  were  eating  from  a  pile  of  shilling  pieces 
or  fi'-penny  bits,  he  stands  aloof  and  grubs  in 
the  ground.     How  changed ! —  Up  the  River. 


THOMAS  BANGS  THORPE. 

(born  I815 — DIED  1878.) 


A  "HOOSIER"  IN  SEARCH  OF  JUSTICE. 

ABOUT  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles 
from  New  Orleans  reposes,  in  all  rural 
happiness,  one  of  the  plcasantest  little  towns  in 
the  South,  that  reflects  itself  in  the  mysterious 
waters  of  the  Mississippi. 

To  the  extreme  right  of  the  town,  looking  at 
it  from  the  river,  may  be  seen  a  comfortable- 
looking  building,  surrounded  by  China  trees; 
just  such  a  place  as  sentimental  misses  dream 
of  when  they  have  indistinct  notions  of  "  set- 
tling in  the  world." 

This  little  "  burban  bandbox,"  however,  is  not 
occupied  by  the  airs  of  love,  nor  the  airs  of  the 
lute,  but  by  a  strong  limb  of  the  law,  a  gnarled 
one  too,  who  knuckles  down  to  business,  and 
digs  out  of  the  "  uncertainties  of  his  profession" 
decisions,  and  reasons,  and  causes,  and  effects, 
nowhere  to  be  met  with,  except  in  the  science 

150 


A   HOOSIER  IN  SEARCH  OF  JUSTICE.    151 

called,  par  excellence,  the  "  perfection  of  human 
reason." 

Around  the  interior  walls  of  this  romantic- 
looking  placemay  befound  an  extensive  library, 
where  all  the  "  statutes,"  from  Moses'  time 
down  to  the  present  day,  are  ranged  side  by 
side ;  in  these  musty  books  the  owner  revels 
day  and  night,  digesting  "  digests,"  and  grow- 
ing the  while  sallow,  with  indigestion. 

On  the  evening-time  of  a  fine  summer's  day, 
the  sage  lawyer  might  have  been  seen  walled 
in  with  books  and  manuscripts,  his  eye  full  of 
thought,  and  his  bald  high  forehead  sparkling 
with  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  as  if  his  genius 
was  making  itself  visible  to  the  senses ;  page 
after  page  he  searched,  musty  parchments  were 
scanned,  an  expression  of  care  and  anxiety  in- 
dented itself  on  the  stern  features  of  his  face, 
and  with  a  sigh  of  despair  he  desisted  from  his 
labors,  uttering  aloud  his  feelings  that  he  feared 
his  case  was  a  hopeless  one. 

Then  he  renewed  again  his  mental  labor  with 
tenfold  vigor,  making  the  very  silence,  with 
which  he  pursued  his  thoughts,  ominous,  as  if  a 
spirit  were  in  his  presence. 

The  door  of  the  lawyer's  office  opened,  there 
pressed  forward  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  a  man, 


152  THOMAS  BANGS    THORPE. 


a  perfect  model  of  physical  power  and  endur- 
ance— a  Western  flatboatman.  The  lawyer 
heeded  not  his  presence,  and  started,  as  if  from 
a  dream,  as  the  harsh  tones  of  inquiry,  grated 
upon  his  ear,  of, 

"  Does  a  'Squire  live  here  ?  " 

"  They  call  me  so,"  was  the  reply,  as  soon  as 
he  had  recovered  from  his  astonishment. 

"  Well,  'Squire,"  continued  the  intruder,  "  I 
have  got  a  case  for  you,  and  I  want  jestess,  if 
it  costs  the  best  load  of  produce  that  ever  come 
from  In-di-an." 

The  man  of  the  law  asked  what  was  the  diffi- 
culty. 

"  It  's  this,  'Squire :  I  'm  bound  for  Or- 
leans, and  put  in  here  for  coffee  and  other  little 
fixins  ;  a  chap  with  a  face  whiskered  up  like  a 
prarie  dog,  says,  says  he, 

"  '  Stranger,  I  see  you  'vc  got  cocks  on  board 
of  your  boat — bring  one  ashore,  and  I  '11  pit  one 
against  him  that  '11  lick  his  legs  off  in  less  time 
than  you  could  gaff  him.'  Well,  'Squire,  / 
never  take  a  dar.  Says  I,  '  Stranger,  I  'm  thar 
at  wunce*;  and  in  twenty  minutes  the  cocks 
were  on  the  levee,  like  parfect  saints. 

"  We  chucked  them  together,  and  my  bird, 
'Squire,    now    mind,     'Squire,   my    bird    never 


J  HOOSIER  IN-  SEARCH  OF  JUSTICE.    1 53 

struck  a  lick,  not  a  single  blow,  but  tuck  to  his 
heels  and  run,  and  by  thunder,  threw  up  his 
feed,  actewelly  vomited.  The  stakeholder  gave 
up  the  money  agin  me,  and  now  I  want  jestess  ; 
as  sure  as  fogs,  my  bird  was  physicked,  or  he  'd 
stood  up  to  his  business  like  a  wild  cat." 

The  lawyer  heard  the  story  with  patience,  but 
flatly  refused  to  have  any  thing  to  do  with  the 
matter. 

"  Prehaps,"  said  the  boatman,  drawing  out  a 
corpulent  pocket-book, "  prehaps  you  think  I 
can't  pay — here  's  the  money  ;  help  yourself — ■ 
give  me  jestess,  and  draw  on  my  purse  like  an 
ox  team." 

To  the  astonishment  of  the  flatboatman,  the 
lawyer  still  refused,  but  unlike  many  of  his  pro- 
fession, gave  his  would-be  client,  without  charge, 
some  general  advice  about  going  on  board  of  his 
boat,  shoving  off  for  New  Orleans,  and  abandon- 
ing the  suit  altogether. 

The  flatboatman  stared  with  profound  as- 
tonishment, and  asked  the  lawyer,  "if  he  was 
a  sure  enough  '  Squire." 

Receiving  an  affirmative  reply,  he  pressed 
every  argument  he  could  use,  to  have  him 
undertake  his  case  and  get  him  "jestess,"  but 
when  he  found  that  his  efforts  were  unavailing. 


154  THOMAS  BANGS    THORPE. 

he  quietly  seated  himself  for  the  first  time,  put 
his  hat  aside, — crossed  his  legs, — then  looking 
up  to  the  ceiling  with  an  expression  of  great 
patience,  he  requested  the  "'Squire,  to  read 
to  him  the  Louisiana  laws  on  cock-fighting." 

The  lawyer  said  that  he  did  not  know  of  a 
single  statute  in  the  State  upon  the  subject. 
The  boatman  started  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot, 
exclaiming — 

"  No  laws  in  the  State  on  cock-fighting?  No, 
no,  '  Squire,  you  can  't  possum  me  ;  give  us  the 
law." 

The  refusal  again  followed  ;  the  astonishment 
of  the  boatman  increased,  and  tiirowing  himself 
in  a  comico-hcroic  attitude,  he  waved  his  long 
fingers  around  the  sides  of  the  room,  and 
asked, 

"  What  all  them  thar  books  were  about  }  " 

"All  about  the  law." 

"  Well,  then,  '  Squire,  am  I  to  understand 
that  not  one  of  them  thar  books  contain  a 
single  law  on  cock-fighting?" 

"You  are." 

"And,  'Squire,  am  I  to  understand  that  thar 
ain't  no  laws  in  Louisiana  on  cock-fighting?" 

"  You  are." 

"  And  am  I  to  understand  that  you  call  your- 


A   HOOSIER  IN  SEARCH  OF  JUSTICE.    I  55 

self  a  '  Squire,  and  that  you  don't  know  any 
thing  about  cock-fighting  ?  " 

"  You  are." 

The  astonishment  of  the  boatman  at  this  re- 
ply for  a  moment  was  unbounded,  and  then 
suddenly  ceased ;  the  awe  with  which  he  looked 
upon  "  the  '  Squire  "  also  ceased,  and  resuming 
his  natural  awkward  and  familiar  carriage,  he 
took  up  his  hat,  and  walking  to  the  door,  with 
a  broad  grin  of  supreme  contempt  in  his  face,  he 
observed, — 

"  That  a  '  Squire  that  did  not  know  the  laws 
of  cock-fighting,  in  his  opinion,  was  distinctly 
an  infernal  old  chuckel-headed  fool!" — The 
Hive  of  the  Bee-hunter. 


JOHN  GODFREY  SAXE. 

(born  i8i6.) 


THE   COQUETTE — A   PORTRAIT. 

"  '^  ^OU  'RE  clever  at  drawing,  I  own," 
j[        Said  my  beautiful  cousin  Lisette, 
As  we  sat  by  the  window  alone, 

"  But  say,  can  you  paint  a  Coquette  ?  " 

"  She  's  painted  already,"  quoth  I  ; 

"  Nay,  nay  !  "  said  the  laughing  Lisette, 
"  Now  none  of  your  joking, — but  try 

And  paint  me  a  thorough  Coquette." 

"  Well,  cousin,"  at  once  I  began 
In  the  ear  of  the  eager  Lisette, 

"  I  '11  paint  you  as  well  as  I  can. 
That  wonderful  thing,  a  Coquette. 

"  She  wears  a  most  beautiful  face," 
("  Of  course,"  said  the  pretty  Lisette,) 

"  And  is  n't  deficient  in  grace. 
Or  else  she  were  not  a  Coquette. 

156 


THE   COQUETTE.  I  57 

"  And  then  she  is  daintily  made  " 
(A  smile  from  the  dainty  Lisette,) 

"  By  people  expert  in  the  trade 
Of  forming  a  proper  Coquette. 

"  She  's  the  winningest  ways  with  the  beaux," 
("  Go  on  !  "  said  the  winning  Lisette,) 

"  But  there  is  n't  a  man  of  them  knows 
The  mind  of  the  fickle  Coquette ! 

"  She  knows  how  to  weep  and  to  sigh," 
(A  sigh  from  the  tender  Lisette,) 

"  But  her  weeping  is  all  in  my  eye, — 
Not  that  of  the  cunning  Coquette  ! 

"  In  short,  she  's  a  creature  of  art," 

("  O  hush  !  "  said  the  frowning  Lisette,) 

"  With  merely  the  ghost  of  a  heart, — 
Enough  for  a  thorough  Coquette. 

"  And  yet  I  could  easily  prove  " 

("  Now  don't !  "  said  the  angry  Lisette,) 

"  The  lady  is  always  in  love, — 

In  love  with  herself, — the  Coquette  ! 

*'  There, — do  not  be  angry  ! — you  know, 

My  dear  little  cousin  Lisette, 
You  told  me  a  moment  ago. 

To  paint /^« — a  thorough  Coquette  I  " 


JAMES  THOMAS  FIELDS. 

(born,  i3i6 — DIED,  1881.) 


THE    PKTTIISONE    LINEAGE. 

MY  name  is  Esek  Pettibone,  and  I  wish 
to  affirm  in  the  outset  that  it  is  a 
good  thing  to  be  well-born.  In  thus  connecting 
the  mention  of  my  name  with  a  positive  state- 
ment, I  am  not  unaware  that  a  catastrophe  lies 
coiled  up  in  the  juxtaposition.  But  I  cannot 
help  writing  plainly  that  I  am  still  in  favor  of  a 
distinguished  family-tree.  EsTO  PERPETUA  ! 
To  have  had  somebody  for  a  great-grandfather 
that  was  somebody  is  exciting.  To  be  able  to 
look  back  on  long  lines  of  ancestry  that  were 
rich,  but  respectable,  seems  decorous  and  all 
right.  The  present  Earl  of  Warwick,  I  think, 
must  have  an  idea  that  strict  justice  has  been 
done  him  in  the  way  of  being  launched  properly 
into  the  world.  I  saw  the  Duke  of  Newcastle 
once,  and  as  the  farmer  in  Conway  described 
Mount  Washington,  I  thought  the  Duke  felt  a 

158 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE.  I  59 


propensity  to  "  hunch  up  some."  Somehow  it 
is  pleasant  to  look  down  on  the  crowd  and  have 
a  conscious  right  to  do  so. 

Left  an  orphan  at  the  tender  age  of  four 
years,  having  no  brothers  or  sisters  to  prop  me 
round  with  young  affections  and  sympathies,  I 
fell  into  three  pairs  of  hands,  excellent  in  their 
way,  but  peculiar.  Patience,  Eunice,  and  Mary 
Ann  Pettibone  were  my  aunts  on  my  father's 
side.  All  my  mother's  relations  kept  shady 
when  the  lonely  orphan  looked  about  for  pro- 
tection ;  but  Patience  Pettibone,  in  her  stately 
way,  said,—"  The  boy  belongs  to  a  good  family, 
and  he  shall  never  want  while  his  three  aunts 
can  support  him."  So  I  went  to  live  with  my 
plain,  but  benignant  protectors,  in  the  State  of 
New  Hampshire. 

During  my  boyhood,  the  best-drilled  lesson 
that  fell  to  my  keeping  was  this:  "  Respect 
yourself.  We  come  of  more  than  ordinary 
parentage.  Superior  blood  was  probably  con- 
cerned in  getting  up  the  Pettibones.  Hold 
your  head  erect,  and  some  day  you  shall  have 
proof  of  your  high  lineage." 

I  remember  once,  on  being  told  that  I  must 
not  share  my  juvenile  sports  with  the  butcher's 
three  little  beings,  I  begged  to  know  why  not. 


l6o  JAMES  THOMAS  FIELDS. 


Aunt  Eunice  looked  at  Patience,  and  Mary  Ann 
knew  what  she  meant. 

"  I\Iy  child,"  slowly  murmured  the  eldest 
sister, "  our  family  no  doubt  came  of  a  very  old 
stock;  perhaps  we  belong  to  the  nobility.  Our 
ancestors,  it  is  thought,  came  over  laden  with 
honors,  and  no  doubt  were  embarrassed  with 
riches,  though  the  latter  importation  has 
dwindled  in  the  lapse  of  years.  Respect  your- 
self, and  when  you  grow  up  you  will  not  regret 
that  your  old  and  careful  aunt  did  not  wish  you 
to  play  with  the  butcher's  offspring." 

I  felt  mortified  that  I  ever  had  a  desire  to 
"knuckle  up"  with  any  but  kings'  sons,  or  sul- 
tans' little  boys.  I  longed  to  be  among  my 
equals  in  the  urchin  line,  and  fly  my  kite  with 
only  high-born  youngsters. 

Thus  I  lived  in  a  constant  scene  of  self-en- 
chantment on  the  part  of  the  sisters,  who  as- 
sumed all  the  port  and  feeling  that  properly 
belonged  to  ladies  of  quality.  Patrimonial 
splendor  to  come  danced  before  their  dim 
eyes;  and  handsome  settlements,  gay  equi- 
pages, and  a  general  grandeur  of  some  sort 
loomed  up  in  the  future  for  the  American 
branch  of  the  House  of  Pettibone. 

It  was  a  life  of  opulent  self-delusion,  which 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE.  l6l 

my  aunts  were  never  tired  of  nursing ;  and  I 
was  too  young  to  doubt  the  reality  of  it.  All 
the  members  of  our  little  household  held  up 
their  heads,  as  if  each  said,  in  so  many  words, 
"  There  is  no  original  sin  in  our  composition, 
whatever  of  that  commodity  there  may  be  mixed 
up  with  the  common  clay  of  Snowborough." 

Aunt  Patience  was  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart. 
Aunt  Eunice  looked  at  her  through  a  de- 
termined pair  of  spectacles,  and  worshipped 
while  she  gazed.  The  youngest  sister  lived  in 
a  dreamy  state  of  honors  to  come,  and  had  con- 
stant zoological  visions  of  lions,  grififins,  and 
unicorns,  drawn  and  quartered  in  every  possible 
style  known  to  the  Heralds'  College.  The  Rev- 
erend Hebrew  Bullet,  who  used  to  drop  in 
quite  often  and  drink  several  compulsory 
glasses  of  home-made  wine,  encouraged  his 
three  parishioners  in  their  aristocratic  notions, 
and  extolled  them  for  what  he  called  their 
"  stooping-down  to  every-day  life."  He  dif- 
fered with  the  ladies  of  our  house  only  on  one 
point.  He  contended  that  the  unicorn  of  the 
Bible  and  the  rhinoceros  of  to-day  were  one  and 
the  same  animal.  My  aunts  held  a  different 
opinion. 

In  the  sleeping-room  of  my  Aunt  Patience 


1 62  JAMES  THOMAS  FIELDS. 

reposed  a  trunk.  Often  during  my  childish 
years  I  longed  to  lift  the  lid  and  spy  among  its 
contents  the  treasures  my  young  fancy  con- 
jured up  as  lying  there  in  state.  I  dared  not 
ask  to  have  the  cover  raised  for  my  gratifica- 
tion, as  I  had  often  been  told  I  was  "  too  little  " 
to  estimate  aright  what  that  armorial  box  con- 
tained. "  When  you  grow  up,  you  shall  see  the 
inside  of  it,"  Aunt  Mary  used  to  say  to  mc  ; 
and  so  I  wondered,  and  wished,  but  all  in  vain. 
I  must  have  the  virtue  of  years  before  I  could 
view  the  treasures  of  past  magnificence  so  long 
entombed  in  that  wooden  sarcophagus.  Once 
I  saw  the  faded  sisters  bending  over  the  trunk 
together,  and,  as  I  thought,  embalming  some- 
thing in  camphor.  Curiosity  impelled  mc  to 
linger,  but,  under  some  pretext,  I  was  nodded 
out  of  the  room. 

Although  my  kinswomen's  means  were  far 
from  ample,  they  determined  that  Swiftmouth 
College  should  have  the  distinction  of  calling 
me  one  of  her  sons,  and  accordingly  I  was  in 
due  time  sent  for  preparation  to  a  neighboring 
academy.  Years  of  study  and  hard  fare  in 
country  boarding-houses  told  upon  my  self- 
importance  as  the  descendant  of  a  great  Eng- 
lishman, notwithstandingall  my  letters  from  the 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE.  1 63 

honored  three  came  with  counsel  to  "  respect 
myself  and  keep  up  the  dignity  of  the  family." 
Growing-up  man  forgets  good  counsel.  The 
Arcadia  of  respectability  is  apt  to  give  place  to 
the  levity  of  foot-ball  and  other  low-toned  ac- 
complishments. The  book  of  life,  at  that 
period,  opens  readily  at  fun  and  frolic,  and  the 
insignia  of  greatness  give  the  school-boy  no 
envious  pangs. 

I  was  nineteen  when  I  entered  the  hoary 
halls  of  Swiftmouth.  I  call  them  hoary,  be- 
cause they  had  been  built  more  than  fifty 
years.  To  me  they  seemed  uncommonly  hoary, 
and  I  snuffed  antiquity  in  the  dusty  purlieus. 
I  now  began  to  study,  in  good  earnest,  the 
wisdom  of  the  past.  I  saw  clearly  the  value  of 
dead  men  and  mouldy  precepts,  especially  if  the 
former  had  been  entombed  a  thousand  years, 
and  if  the  latter  were  well  done  in  sounding 
Greek  and  Latin.  I  began  to  reverence  royal 
lines  of  deceased  monarchs,  and  longed  to  con- 
nect my  own  name,  now  growing  into  college 
popularity,  with  some  far-off  mighty  one  who 
had  ruled  in  pomp  and  luxury  his  obsequious 
people.  The  trunk  in  Snowborough  troubled 
my  dreams.  In  that  receptacle  still  slept  the 
proof  of  our  family  distinction.     "  I  will  go," 


164  JAMES  THOMAS  FIELDS. 

quoth  I,  "  to  the  home  of  my  aunts  next  vaca- 
tion and  there  learn  Jiow  we  became  mighty, 
and  discover  precisely  why  we  don't  practise 
to  day  our  inherited  claims  to  glory." 

I  went  to  Snowborough.  Aunt  Patience 
was  now  anxious  to  lay  before  her  impatient 
nephew  the  proof  he  burned  to  behold.  But 
first  she  must  explain.  All  the  old  family 
documents  and  letters  were,  no  doubt,  de- 
stroyed in  the  great  fire  of  '98,  as  nothing  in 
the  shape  of  parchment  or  paper  implying  no- 
bility had  ever  been  discovered  in  Snowbor- 
ough,  or  elsewhere.  But  there  had  been 
preserved,  for  many  years,  a  suit  of  imperial 
clothes  that  had  been  worn  by  their  great- 
grandfather in  England,  and,  no  doubt,  in  the 
New  World  also.  These  garments  had  been 
carefully  watched  and  guarded,  for  were  they 
not  the  proof  that  their  owner  belonged  to  a 
station  in  life  second,  if  second  at  all,  to  the 
royal  court  of  King  George  itself?  Precious 
casket,  into  which  I  was  soon  to  have  the  privi- 
lege of  gazing !  Through  how  many  long 
years  these  fond,  foolish  virgins  had  lighted 
their  unflickering  lamps  of  expectation  and 
hope  at  this  cherished  old  shrine  ! 

I  was  now  on  my  way  to  the  family  repository 


THE  PETTIBONE  LINEAGE.  1 65 

of  all  our  greatness.  I  went  up  stairs  "  on  the 
jump."  We  all  knelt  down  before  the  well- 
preserved  box  ;  and  my  proud  Aunt  Patience, 
in  a  somewhat  reverent  manner,  turned  the 
key.  My  heart, — I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess 
it  now,  although  it  is  forty  years  since  the 
quartet,  in  search  of  family  honors,  were  on 
their  knees  that  summer  afternoon  in  Snow- 
borough, — my  heart  beat  high.  I  was  about  to 
look  on  that  which  might  be  a  duke's  or  an 
earl's  regalia.  And  I  was  descended  from  the 
owner  in  a  direct  line  !  I  had  lately  been  read- 
ing Shakspeare's  "Titus  Andronicus  "  ;  and  I 
remembered,  there  before  the  trunk,  the  lines, — 

'  O  sacred  receptacle  of  my  joys, 
Sweet  cell  of  virtue  and  nobility  !  " 

The  lid  went  up,  and  the  sisters  began  to  unroll 
the  precious  garments,  which  seemed  all  en- 
shrined in  aromatic  gums  and  spices.  The  odor 
of  that  interior  lives  with  me  to  this  day  ;  and 
I  grow  faint  with  the  memory  of  that  hour. 
With  pious  precision  the  clothes  were  uncov- 
ered, and  at  last  the  whole  suit  was  laid  before 
my  expectant  eyes. 

Reader  !  I  am  an  old  man  now,  and  have  not 
long  to  walk  this  planet.     But,  whatever  dread- 


l66  JAMES  THOMAS  FIELDS. 

ful  shock  may  be  in  reserve  for  my  declining 
years,  I  am  certain  I  can  bear  it  ;  for  I  went 
through  that  scene  at  Snowborough,  and  still 
live  ! 

When  the  garments  were  fully  displayed,  all 
the  aunts  looked  at  me.  I  had  been  to  college  ; 
I  had  studied  Burke's  "  Peerage  "  ;  I  had  been 
once  to  New  York.  Perhaps  I  could  immedi- 
ately name  the  exact  station  in  noble  British 
life  to  which  that  suit  of  clothes  bcloneed.  I 
could  ;  I  saw  it  all  at  a  glance.  I  grew  flus- 
tered and  pale.  I  dared  not  look  my  poor 
deluded  female  relatives  in  the  face. 

"  What  rank  in  the  peerage  do  these  gold- 
laced  garments  and  big  buttons  betoken  ? " 
cried  all  three. 

"  //  is  a  suit  of  servant' s  livery  !  "  gasped  I, 
and  fell  back  with  a  shudder. 

That  evening,  after  the  sun  had  gone  down, 
we  buried  those  hateful  garments  in  a  ditch  at 
the  bottom  of  the  garden.  Rest  there  per- 
turbed body-coat,  yellow  trousers,  brown  gaiters, 
and  all  ! 

"  Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye  !  " 

— Atlantic  Monthly,  April,  1865.  • 


FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS. 

(born,  i8i8 — DIED,  1869.) 


THE   FAMILY   HORSE. 

I  HAVE  bought  me  a  horse.  As  I  had  ob« 
tained  some  skill  in  the  manege  during 
my  younger  days,  it  was  a  matter  of  considera- 
tion to  have  a  saddle-horse.  It  surprised  me  to 
find  good  saddle-horses  very  abundant  soon 
after  my  consultation  with  the  stage  proprietor 
upon  this  topic.  There  were  strange  saddle- 
horses  to  sell  almost  every  day.  One  man  was 
very  candid  about  his  horse  :  he  told  me,  if  his 
horse  had  a  blemish,  he  would  n't  wait  to  be 
asked  about  it  ;  he  would  tell  it  right  out ;  and, 
if  a  man  did  n't  want  him  then,  he  need  n't 
take  him.  He  also  proposed  to  put  him  on 
trial  for  sixty  days,  giving  his  note  for  the 
amount  paid  him  for  the  horse,  to  be  taken  up 
in  case  the  animal  were  returned.  I  asked  him 
what  were  the  principal  defects  of  the  horse. 
He  said  he  'd  been  fired   once,   because  they 

167 


1 68  FREDEPICK  S.  COZZENS. 

thought  he  was  spavined  ;  but  there  was  no 
more  spavin  to  him  than  there  was  to  a  fresh- 
laid  egg — he  was  as  sound  as  a  dollar.  I  asked 
him  if  he  would  just  state  what  were  the  de- 
fects of  the  horse.  He  answered,  that  he  once 
had  the  pink-eye,  and  added,  "  now  that  's 
honest."  I  thought  so,  but  proceeded  to  ques- 
tion him  closely.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  the 
bots.  He  said,  not  a  bot.  I  asked  him  if  he 
would  go.  He  said  he  would  go  till  he  dropped 
down  dead  ;  just  touch  liim  with  a  whip,  and 
he  '11  jump  out  of  his  hide.  I  inquired  how  old 
he  was.  He  answered,  just  eight  years,  exact- 
ly— some  men,  he  said,  wanted  to  make  their 
horses  younger  than  they  be  ;  he  was  willing 
to  speak  right  out,  and  own  up  he  was  eight 
years.  I  asked  him  if  there  were  any  other 
objections.  He  said  no,  except  that  he  was 
inclined  to  be  a  little  gay  ;  "  but,"  he  added, 
"  he  is  so  kind,  a  child  can  drive  him  with  a 
thread."  I  asked  him  if  he  was  a  good  family 
horse.  He  replied  that  no  lady  that  ever  drew 
rein  over  him  would  be  willing  to  part  with 
him.  Then  I  asked  him  his  price.  He  an- 
swered  that  no  man  could  have  bought  him  for 
one  hundred  dollars  a  month  ago,  but  now  he 
was  willing  to  sell  him  for  scvcnty-five,  on  ac- 


THE  FAMILY  HORSE.  1 69 

count  of  having  a  note  to  pay.  This  seemed 
such  a  very  low  price,  I  was  about  saying  I 
would  take  him,  when  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  whis- 
pered, that  I  had  better  see  the  horse  first.  I 
confess  I  was  a  little  afraid  of  losing  my  bargain 
by  it,  but,  out  of  deference  to  Mrs.  S.,  I  did 
ask  to  see  the  horse  before  I  bought  him.  He 
said  he  would  fetch  him  down.  "  No  man,"  he 
added,  "  ought  to  buy  a  horse  unless  he  's  saw 
him."  When  the  horse  came  down,  it  struck 
me  that,  whatever  his  qualities  might  be,  his 
personal  appearance  was  against  him.  One  of 
his  fore  legs  was  shaped  like  the  handle  of  our 
punch-ladle,  and  the  remaining  three  legs,  about 
the  fetlock,  were  slightly  bunchy.  Besides,  he 
had  no  tail  to  brag  of  ;  and  his  back  had  a  very 
hollow  sweep,  from  his  high  haunches  to  his 
low  shoulder-blades.  I  was  much  pleased,  how- 
ever, with  the  fondness  and  pride  manifested 
by  his  owner,  as  he  held  up,  by  both  sides  of 
the  bridle,  the  rather  longish  head  of  his  horse, 
surmounting  a  neck  shaped  like  a  pea-pod,  and 
said,  in  a  sort  of  triumphant  voice,  "  three- 
quarters  blood  !  "  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  flushed 
up  a  little,  when  she  asked  me  if  I  intended  to 
purchase  that  horse,  and  added,  that,  if  I  did, 
she  would  never  want  to  ride.     So  I  told  the 


I70  FREDERICK  S.   COZZENS. 


man  he  would  not  suit  me.     He  answered  by 
suddenly  throwing  himself  upon   his   stomach 
across  the  back-bone  of  his  horse,  and  then,  by 
turning  round  as  on  a  pivot,  got  up  a-straddle 
of  him  ;  then  he  gave  his  horse  a  kick  in  the 
ribs  that  caused  him  to  jump  out  with  all  his 
legs,  like  a  frog,  and  then  ofT  went  the  spoon- 
legged  animal  with  a  gait  that  was  not  a  trot, 
nor  yet  precisely  pacing.     He  rode  around  our 
grass-plot  twice,  and   then    pulled    his  horse's 
head  up  like  the  cock  of  a  musket.     "  That," 
said  he,  "  is  //;;/^'."     I  replied  that  he  did  seem 
to    go    pretty    fast.     "  Pretty    fast  ! "    said    his 
owner.     "  Well,  do  you  know  Mr. ?  "  men- 
tioning one  of  the  richest  men  in  our  village. 
I    replied    that    I    was    acquainted    with    him. 
"Well,"   said  he,  "  you   know   his  horse?"     I 
replied   that    I   had    no   personal    acquaintance 
with  him.     "  Well,"  said  he,  "  he  's  the  fastest 
horse   in   the   county — jist   so — I  'm   willin'  to 
admit  it.     But  do  you   know   I  offered  to  put 
my  horse  agin'  his  to  trot  ?     I  had  no  money 
to  put  up,  or,   rayther,  to  spare  ;  but  I  offered 
to  trot  him,  horse  agin'  horse,  and  the  winner 
to  take  both  horses,  and  I  tell  you — he  would  nt 
do  It  !  " 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  got  a  little  nervous,  and 


THE  FAMILY  HORSE.  171 

twitched  me  by  the  skirt  of  the  coat.  "  Dear," 
said  she,  "  let  him  go."  I  assured  her  that 
I  would  not  buy  the  horse,  and  told  the 
man  firmly  I  would  not  buy  him.  He  said 
very  well — if  he  did  n't  suit  't  was  no  use  to 
keep  a-talkin' :  but  he  added,  he  *d  be  down 
agin'  with  another  horse,  next  morning,  that 
belonged  to  his  brother;  and  if  he  did  n't  suit 
me,  then  I  did  n't  want  a  horse.  With  this 
remark  he  rode  off.     .     .     . 

"  It  rains  very  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass, 
looking  out  of  the  window  next  morning. 
Sure  enough,  the  rain  was  sweeping  broadcast 
over  the  country,  and  the  four  Sparrowgrassii 
were  flattening  a  quartet  of  noses  against  the 
window-panes,  believing  most  faithfully  the 
man  would  bring  the  horse  that  belonged  to 
his  brother,  in  spite  of  the  elements.  It  was 
hoping  against  hope  ;  no  man  having  a  horse  to 
sell  will  trot  him  out  in  a  rain-storm,  unless  he 
intend  to  sell  him  at  a  bargain — but  childhood 
is  so  credulous  !  The  succeeding  morning  was 
bright,  however,  and  down  came  the  horse.  He 
had  been  very  cleverly  groomed,  and  looked 
pleasant  under  the  saddle.  The  man  led  him 
back  and  forth  before  the  door.  "  There, 
'squire,  's  as  good  a  hos  as  ever  stood  on  iron." 


1/2  FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS. 

Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  asked  me  what  he  meant  by 
that.  I  replied,  it  was  a  figurative  way  of  ex- 
pressing, in  horse-talk,  that  he  was  as  good  a 
horse  as  ever  stood  in  shoe-leather.  "  He  's  a 
handsome  hos,  'squire,"  said  the  man.  I  re- 
plied that  he  did  seem  to  be  a  good-looking 
animal  ;  but,  said  I,  "  he  does  not  quite  come 
up  to  the  description  of  a  horse  I  have  read." 
"  Whose  hos  was  it  ?  "  said  he.  I  replied  it 
was  the  horse  of  Adonis.  He  said  he  did 
n't  know  him  ;  but,  he  added,  "  there  is  so 
man^  bosses  stolen,  that  the  descriptions  are 
stuck  up  now  pretty  common."  To  put  him  at 
his  ease  (for  he  seemed  to  think  I  suspected 
him  of  having  stolen  the  horse),  I  told  him  the 
description  I  meant  had  been  written  some  hun- 
dreds of  years  ago  by  Shakspeare,  and  repeated 
it : 

"  Round-hoof t,  short-joynted,  fetlocks  shag  and  long, 

Broad  breast,  full  eyes,  small  head,  and  nostrils  wide, 
Hi^h  crest,  short  ears,  straight  legs,  and  ])assing  strong, 
Thin  mane,  thick  tail,  broad  buttock,  tender  hide." 


<i  '( 


'Squire,"  said  he,  "  that  will  do  for  a  song, 
but  it  ain't  no  p'ints  of  a  good  hos.  Trotters 
nowadays  go  in  all  shapes,  big  heads  and  little 
heads,  big  eyes  and  little  eyes,  short  ears  or 
long  ears,   thick  tail    and   no  tail;  so    as  they 


THE  FAMILY  HORSE.  1 73 

have  sound  legs,  good  Tin,  good  barrel,    and 
good  stifle,  and  wind,  'squire,  and  speed  well, 
they  '11  fetch  a  price.     Now,  this  animal  is  what 
I  call  a  hos,  'squire  ;  he  's  got  the  p'ints,  he  's 
stylish,  he  's  close-ribbed,  a  free  goer,  kind  in 
harness — single  or  double — a  good  feeder."     I 
asked  him  if  being  a  good  feeder  was  a  desir- 
able quality.     He  replied  it  was  ;  "  of  course," 
said  he,  "  if  your  hos  is   off  his  feed,  he  ain't 
good    for  nothin'.     But    what  's  the    use,"   he 
added,  "  of  me  tellin'  you  the  p'ints  of  a  good 
hos  ?   You  're  a  hos  man,  'squire  :  you  know  " — 
"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  I,  "  there  is  something 
the  matter  with  that   left    eye."      "No,   sir," 
said  he,    and  with    that  he    pulled    down  the 
horse's   head,  and,    rapidly   crooking  his  fore- 
finger at  the  suspected  organ,  said,  "  see  thar — 
don't  wink  a  bit."     "  But  he   should  wink,"  I 
replied.     "  Not  onless  his    eye  are  weak,"  he 
said.     To  satisfy  myself,  I  asked  the  man  to  let 
me  take  the  bridle.     He  did  so,  and,  as  soon  as 
I  took  hold  of  it,  the  horse  started  off  in  a  re- 
markable retrograde  movement,   dragging  me 
with   him  into   my  best   bed  of   hybrid  roses. 
Finding  we  were  trampling  down  all  the  best 
plants,  that  had  cost  at  auction  from  three-and- 
sixpence  to  seven  shillings  apiece,  and  that  the 


174  FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS. 

more  I  pulled,  the  more  he  backed,  I  finally  let 
him  have  his  own  way,  and  jammed  him  stern- 
foremost  into  our  largest  climbing  rose  that  had 
been  all  summer  prickling  itself,  in  order  to 
look  as  much  like  a  vegetable  porcupine  as  pos- 
sible. This  unexpected  bit  of  satire  in  his  rear 
changed  his  retrograde  movement  to  a  side- 
long bound,  by  which  he  flirted  off  half  the  pots 
on  the  balusters,  upsetting  my  gladioluses  and 
tube-roses  in  the  pod,  and  leaving  great  splashes 
of  mould,  geraniums,  and  red  potter}'  in  the 
gravel  walk.  By  this  time  his  owner  had 
managed  to  give  him  two  pretty  severe  cuts 
with  the  whip,  which  made  him  unmanageable, 
so  I  let  him  go.  We  had  a  pleasant  time  catch- 
ing him  again,  when  he  got  among  the  Lima- 
bean  poles ;  but  his  owner  led  him  back  with  a 
very  self-satisfied  expression.  "  Playful,  ain't 
he,  'squire  ?  "  I  replied  that  I  thought  he  was, 
and  asked  him  if  it  was  usual  for  his  horse  to 
play  such  pranks.  He  said  it  was  not.  "  You 
see,  'squire,  he  feels  his  oats,  and  hain't  been 
out  of  the  stable  for  a  month.  Use  him,  and 
he  's  as  kind  as  a  kitten."  With  that  he  put 
his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  and  mounted.  The  ani- 
mal really  looked  very  well  as  he  moved  around 
the  grass-plot,  and,  as  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  seemed 


THE  FAMILY  HORSE.  1 75 

to  fancy  him,  I  took  a  written  guarantee  that 
he  was  sound,  and  bought  him.  What  I  gave 
for  him  is  a  secret ;  I  have  not  even  told  Mrs. 
Sparrowgrass.     .     .     . 

We  had  passed  Chicken  Island,  and  the  fa- 
mous house  with  the  stone  gable  and  the  one 
stone  chimney,  in  which  General  Washington 
slept,  as  he  made  it  a  point  to  sleep  in  every  old 
stone  house  in  Westchester  county,  and  had  gone 
pretty  far  on  the  road,  past  the  cemetery,  when 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  said  suddenly,  "  Dear,  what 
is  the  matter  with  your  horse  ?  "  As  I  had 
been  telling  the  children  all  the  stories  about 
the  river  on  the  way,  I  managed  to  get  my  head 
pretty  well  inside  of  the  carriage,  and,  at  the 
time  she  spoke,  was  keeping  a  look-out  in  front 
with  my  back.  The  remark  of  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass 
induced  me  to  turn  about,  and  I  found  the  new 
horse  behaving  in  a  most  unaccountable  manner. 
He  was  going  down  hill  with  his  nose  almost  to 
the  ground,  running  the  wagon  first  on  this  side 
and  then  on  the  other.  I  thought  of  the  re- 
mark made  by  the  man,  and  turning  again  to 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,  said,  "  Playful,  is  n't  he  ?  " 
The  next  moment  I  heard  something  breaking 
away  in  front,  and  then  the  Rockaway  gave  a 
lurch  and  stood  still.  Upon  examination  I  found 


176  FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS. 

the  new  horse  had  tumbled  down,  broken  one 
shaft,  gotten  the  other  through  the  check-rein 
so  as  to  bring  his  head  up  with  a  round  turn, 
and   besides  had  managed  to  put  one  of  the 
traces  in  a  single  hitch  around  his  off  hind  leg. 
So  soon  as  I  had  taken  all  the  young  ones  and 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  out  of  the  Rockaway,  I  set 
to  work  to  liberate  the  horse,  who  was  choking 
very  fast  with  the  check-rein.     It  is  unpleasant 
to  get  your  fishing-line  in  a  tangle  when  you 
are  in  a  hurry  for  bites,  but  I  never  saw  fishing- 
line  in  such  a  tangle  as  that  harness.     How- 
ever, I  set  to  work  with  a  penknife,  and  cut  him 
out  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  getting  home  by 
our  conveyance  impossible.     When  he  got  up, 
he  was  the  sleepiest-looking  horse  I  ever  saw. 
"  Mrs.  Sparrowgrass,"  said  I,  "  won't  you  stay 
here  with  the  children  until  I  go  to  the  nearest 
farm-house  ?  "     Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  replied  that 
she  would.     Then  I  took  the  horse  with  me  to 
get  him  out  of  the  way  of  the  children,  and 
went  in  search  of  assistance.     The  first  thing 
the  new  horse  did  when  he  got  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  scene  of  the  accident,  was  to 
tumble  down  a  bank.     Fortunately  the  bank 
was  not  over  four  feet  high,  but  as  I  went  with 
him,  my  trowsers  were  rent  in  a  grievous  place. 


THE  FAMILY  HORSE.  I  77 

While  I  was  getting  the  new  horse  on  his  feet 
again,  I  saw  a  colored  person  approaching,  who 
came  to  my  assistance.  The  first  thing  he  did 
was  to  pull  out  a  large  jack-knife,  and  the  next 
thing  he  did  was  to  open  the  new  horse's 
mouth  and  run  the  blade  two  or  three  times 
inside  of  the  new  horse's  gums.  Then  the  new 
horse  commenced  bleeding.  "  Dah,  sah,"  said 
the  man,  shutting  up  his  jack-knife,  "  ef  't 
had  n't  been  for  dat  yer,  yourhos  would  a'  bin  a 
goner."  "  What  was  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 
said  I.  "  Oh,  he  's  only  jis  got  de  blind-stag- 
gers, das  all.  Say,"  said  he,  before  I  was  half 
indignant  enough  at  the  man  who  had  sold  me 
such  an  animal,  "say,  ain't  your  name  Sparrow- 
grass  ?  "  I  replied  that  my  name  was  Sparrow- 
grass.  "  Oh,"  said  he,  "  I  knows  you,  I  brung 
some  fowls  once  down  to  you  place.  I  heerd 
about  you,  and  your  hos.  Dats  de  hos  dats  got 
de  heaves  so  bad,  heh  !  heh  !  You  better  sell 
dat  hos."  I  determined  to  take  his  advice,  and 
employed  him  to  lead  my  purchase  to  the 
nearest  place  where  he  would  be  cared  for. 
Then  I  went  back  to  the  Rockaway,  but  met 
Mrs.  Sparrowgrass  and  the  children  on  the  road 
coming  to  meet  me.  She  had  left  a  man  in 
charge  of  the  Rockaway.     When  we  got  to  the 


778  FREDERICK  S.  COZZENS. 

Rockaway  we  found  the  man  missing,  also  the 
whip  and  one  cushion.  We  got  another  person 
to  take  charge  of  the  Rockaway,  and  had  a 
pleasant  walk  home  by  moonlight.  I  think  a 
moonlight  night  delicious,  upon  the  Hudson. 

Does  any  person  want  a  horse  at  a  low  price  ? 
A  good  stylish-looking  animal,  close-ribbed, 
good  loin,  and  good  stifle,  sound  legs,  with 
only  the  heaves  and  blind-staggers,  and  a 
slight  defect  in  one  of  his  eyes  ?  If  at  any  time 
he  slips  his  bridle  and  gets  away,  you  can  always 
approach  him  by  getting  on  his  left  side.  I 
will  also  engage  to  give  a  written  guarantee 
that  he  is  sound  and  kind,  signed  by  the  brother 
of  his  former  owner. —  T)ic  Sparrowgrass  Papers. 


HENRY  W.  SHAW  ("  Josh  Billingsr) 

(born,  i8i8 — DIED,  1885.) 


THE    MUSKEETER. 

MUSKEETERS  are  a  game  bug,  but  they 
won't  bite  at  a  hook.  Thare  iz  millyuns 
ov  them  kaught  every  year,  but  not  with  a 
hook,  this  makes  the  market  for  them  unstiddy, 
the  supply  allways  exceeding  the  demand.  The 
muskeeto  iz  born  on  the  sly,  and  cums  to  ma- 
turity quicker  than  enny  other  ov  the  domestik 
animiles.  A  muskeeter  at  3  hours  old  iz  just 
az  reddy,  and  anxious  to  go  into  bizzness  for 
himself,  az  ever  he  iz,  and  bites  the  fust  time 
az  sharp,  and  natral,  as  red  pepper  duz.  The 
muskeeter  haz  a  good  ear  for  musik,  and  sings 
without  notes.  The  song  ov  the  musketo  iz 
monotonous  to  sum  folks,  but  in  me  it  stirs  up 
the  memorys  ov  other  days.  I  hav  lade  awake, 
all  nite  long,  menny  a  time  and  listened  to  the 
sweet  anthems  ov  the  muskeeter.  I  am  satis- 
fied that  thare  want  nothing  made  in  vain,  but 

179 


l8o  HENRY  //'.  SHAW. 

i  kant  help  thinking  how  mighty  kluss  the 
musketozc  kum  to  it.  The  muskeeter  haz  in- 
habited this  world  since  its  kreashun,  and  will 
probably  hang  around  here  until  bizzness 
closes.  Whare  the  muskeeter  goes  to  in  the 
winter  iz  a  standing  konumdrum,  which  all  the 
naturalists  hav  giv  up,  but  we  kno  he  dont  go 
far,  for  he  iz  on  hand  early  each  year  with  liiz 
probe  fresh  ground,  and  polished.  Muskeeters 
must  be  one  ov  the  luxurys  ov  life,  they  cer- 
tainly aint  one  ov  the  necessarys,  not  if  we 
kno  ourselfs. — Farmer  s  Ahninax,  December, 
1877. 

LAFFING. 

Anatomikally  konsidered,  lafTing  iz  the  sensa- 
tion ov  pheeling  good  all  over,  and  showing  it 
principally  in  one  spot. 

Morally  konsidered,  it  iz  the  next  best  thing 
tew  the  10  commandments. 

Theoretikally  konsidered,  it  kan  out-argy  all 
the  logik  in  existence. 

Pyroteknikally  konsidered,  it  is  the  fire-works 
of  the  soul.     .     .     . 

But  i  don't  intend  this  essa  for  laffing  in  the 
lump,  but  for  laffing  on  the  half-shell. 

Laffing  iz  just   az  natral  tew  cum  tew   the 


LAFFING.  l8l 


surface  az  a  rat  iz  tew  cum  out  ov  hiz  hole 
when  he  wants  tew. 

Yu  kant  keep  it  back  by  swallowing  enny 
more  than  yu  kan  the  heekups. 

If  a  man  kant  laff  there  iz  sum  mistake  made 
in  putting  him  together,  and  if  he  wont  laff  he 
wants  az  mutch  keeping  away  from  az  a  bear- 
trap  when  it  iz  sot. 

I  have  seen  people  who  laffed  altogether  too 
mutch  for  their  own  good  or  for  ennyboddy 
else's ;  they  laft  like  a  barrell  ov  nu  sider  with 
the  tap  pulled  out,  a  perfekt  stream. 

This  is  a  grate  waste  ov  natral  juice. 

I  have  seen  other  people  who  did  n't  laff  enuff 
tew  giv  themselfs  vent ;  they  waz  like  a  barrell 
ov  nu  sider  too,  that  waz  bunged  up  tite,  apt 
tew  start  a  hoop  and  leak  all  away  on  the  sly. 

Thare  ain't  neither  ov  theze  2  ways  right, 
and  they  never  ought  tew  be  pattented.    .     .     . 

Genuine  lafifing  iz  the  vent  ov  the  soul,  the 
nostrils  of  the  heart,  and  iz  just  az  necessary 
for  health  and  happiness  az  spring  water  iz  for 
a  trout. 

Thare  iz  one  kind  ov  a  laff  that  i  always  did 
rekommend  ;  it  looks  out  ov  the  eye  fust  with 
a  merry  twinkle,  then  it  kreeps  down  on  its 
hands  and  kneze  and  plays  around  the  mouth 


l82  HENRY  IV.  SHAW. 

like  a  pretty  moth  around  the  blaze  ov  a  kandle, 
then  it  steals  over  into  the  dimples  ov  the 
cheeks  and  rides  around  into  thoze  little  whirl- 
pools for  a  while,  then  it  litcs  up  the  whole  face 
like  the  mello  bloom  on  a  damask  rozc,  then  it 
swims  oph  on  the  air  with  a  peal  az  klear  and 
az  happy  az  a  dinner-bell,  then  it  goes  bak  agin 
on  golden  tiptoze  like  an  angel  out  for  an  air- 
ing, and  laze  down  on  its  little  bed  ov  violets  in 
the  heart  where  it  cum  from. 

Thare  iz  another  lafT  that  nobody  kan  with- 
stand ;  it  iz  just  az  honest  and  noizy  az  a  dis- 
trikt  skool  let  out  tew  play,  it  shakes  a  man  up 
from  hiz  toze  tew  hiz  temples,  it  dubblcs  and 
twists  him  like  a  whiskee  phit,  it  lifts  him  oph 
from  his  cheer,  like  feathers,  and  lets  him  bak 
agin  like  melted  led,  it  goes  all  thru  him  like  a 
pikpocket,  and  finally  leaves  him  az  weak  and 
az  krazy  az  tho  he  had  bin  soaking  all  day  in  a 
Rushing  bath  and  forgot  to  be  took  out. 

This  kind  ov  a  laff  belongs  tew  jolly  good 
phellows  who  are  az  healthy  az  quakers,  and 
who  are  az  eazy  tew  pleaze  az  a  gall  who  iz 
going  tew  be  married  to-morrow. 

In  konclushion  i  say  laff  every  good  chance 
yu  kan  git,  but  don't  laff  unless  yu  fcal  like  it, 
for   there   ain't    nothing   in    this    world    more 


LAFFING.  183 

harty  than  a  good  honest  laff,  nor  nothing 
more  hollow  than  a  hartless  one. 

When  yu  do  laff  open  your  mouth  wide 
enuff  for  the  noize  tew  git  out  without  squeal- 
ing, thro  yure  hed  bak  az  tho  yu  waz  going  tew 
be  shaved,  hold  on  tew  yure  false  hair  with  both 
hands  and  then  laff  till  yure  soul  gets  thoroly 
rested. 

But  i  shall  tell  yu  more  about  theze  things  at 
sum  fewter  time. — Josh  Billings :  his  works. 


JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 
(born,  1819.) 


AT   SEA. 

THE  sea  was  meant  to  be  looked  at  from 
shore,  as  mountains  are  from  the  plain. 
Lucretius  made  this  discovery  long  ago,  and 
was  blunt  enough  to  blurt  it  forth,  romance  and 
sentiment — in  other  words,  the  pretence  of 
feeling  what  we  do  not  feel — being  inventions 
of  a  later  day.  To  be  sure,  Cicero  used  to 
twaddle  about  Greek  literature  and  philosophy, 
much  as  people  do  about  ancient  art  nowa- 
days ;  but  I  rather  sympathize  with  those  stout 
old  Romans  who  despised  both,  and  believed 
that  to  found  an  empire  was  as  grand  an 
achievement  as  to  build  an  epic  or  to  carve  a 
statue.  But  though  there  might  have  been 
twaddle,  (as  why  not,  since  there  was  a  Sen- 
ate ?)  I  rather  think  Petrarch  was  the  first  chor- 
agus  of  that  sentimental  dance  which  so  long  led 
young  folks  away  from  the  realities  of  life  like  the 

184 


AT  SEA.  185 

piper  of  Hamelin,  and  whose  succession  ended, 
let  us  hope,  with  Chateaubriand.  But  for 
them,  Byron,  whose  real  strength  lay  in  his 
sincerity,  would  never  have  talked  about  the 
"  sea  bounding  beneath  him  like  a  steed  that 
knows  his  rider,"  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Even  if  it  had  been  true,  steam  has  been  as 
fatal  to  that  part  of  the  romance  of  the  sea  as 
to  hand-loom  weaving.  But  what  say  you  to  a 
twelve  days'  calm  such  as  we  dozed  through  in 
mid-Atlantic  and  in  mid-August  ?  I  know  noth- 
ing so  tedious  at  once  and  exasperating  as  that 
regular  slap  of  the  wilted  sails  when  the  ship 
rises  and  falls  with  the  slow  breathing  of  the 
sleeping  sea,  one  greasy,  brassy  swell  following 
another,  slow,  smooth,  immitigable  as  the  series 
of  Wordsworth's  "  Ecclesiastical  Sonnets." 
Even  at  his  best,  Neptune,  in  a  tite-d-tite,  has  a 
way  of  repeating  himself,  an  obtuseness  to  the 
ne  quid  niutis,  that  is  stupefying.  It  reminds 
me  of  organ-music  and  my  good  friend  Sebastian 
Bach.  A  fugue  or  two  will  do  very  well ;  but 
a  concert  made  up  of  nothing  else  is  altogether 
too  epic  for  me.  There  is  nothing  so  desper- 
ately monotonous  as  the  sea,  and  I  no  longer 
wonder  at  the  cruelty  of  pirates.  Fancy  an  ex- 
istence in  which  the  coming  up  of  a  clumsy  fin- 


I  86  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

back  whale,  who  says  Pooli !  to  you  solemnly  as 
you  lean  over  the  taffrail,  is  an  event  as  excit- 
ing as  an  election  on  shore.  The  dampness 
seems  to  strike  into  the  wits  as  into  the  lucifer 
matches,  so  that  one  may  scratch  a  thought  half 
a  dozen  times  and  get  nothing  at  last  but  a  faint 
sputter,  the  forlorn  hope  of  fire,  which  only 
goes  far  enough  to  leave  a  sense  of  suffocation 
behind  it.  Even  smoking  becomes  an  employ- 
ment instead  of  a  solace.  Who  less  likely  to 
come  to  their  wit's  end  than  W.  M.  T.  and  A.  H. 
C.  ?  Yet  I  have  seen  them  driven  to  five  meals 
a  day  for  mental  occupation.  I  sometimes  sit 
and  pity  Noah  ;  but  even  he  had  this  advan- 
tage over  all  succeeding  navigators,  that, 
wherever  he  landed,  he  was  sure  to  get  no  ill 
news  from  home.  Me  should  be  canonized  as 
the  patron-saint  of  newspaper  correspondents, 
being  the  only  man  who  ever  had  the  very  last 
authentic  intelligence  from  everywhere. — Fire- 
side Travels. 

THE   CIIIEr   MATE. 

My  first  glimpse  of  Europe  was  the  shore  of 
Spain.  Since  wc  got  into  the  Mediterranean, 
we  have  been  becalmed  for  some  days  within 
easy  view  of  it.     All  along  are  fine  mountains. 


THE   CHIEF  MATE.  1 8/ 

brown  all  day,  and  with  a  bloom  on  them  at 
sunset  like  that  of  a  ripe  plum.  Here  and 
there  at  their  feet  little  white  towns  are  sprin- 
kled along  the  edge  of  the  water,  like  the  grains 
of  rice  dropped  by  the  princess  in  the  story. 
Sometimes  we  see  larger  buildings  on  the 
mountain  slopes,  probably  convents.  I  sit  and 
wonder  whether  the  farther  peaks  may  not  be 
the  Sierra  Morena  (the  rusty  saw)  of  Don 
Quixote.  I  resolve  that  they  shall  be,  and  am 
content.  Surely  latitude  and  longitude  never 
showed  me  any  particular  respect,  that  I  should 
be  over-scrupulous  with  them. 

But  after  all,  Nature,  though  she  may  be 
more  beautiful,  is  nowhere  so  entertaining  as  in 
man,  and  the  best  thing  I  have  seen  and  learned 
at  sea  is  our  Chief  Mate.  My  first  acquaint- 
ance with  him  was  made  over  my  knife,  which 
he  asked  to  look  at,  and,  after  a  critical  examina- 
tion, handed  back  to  me,  saying,  "  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  that  'ere  was  a  good  piece  o' 
stuff."  Since  then  he  has  transferred  a  part  of 
his  regard  for  my  knife  to  its  owner.  I  like 
folks  who  like  an  honest  bit  of  steel,  and  take 
no  interest  whatever  in  "your  Raphaels,  Cor- 
reggios,  and  stuff."  There  is  always  more  than 
the  average  human  nature  in  the  man  who  has 


1 88  JAMES  RUSSELL   LOWELL. 

a  hearty  sympathy  with  iron.  It  is  a  manly 
metal,  with  no  sordid  associations  like  gold  and 
silver.  My  sailor  fully  came  up  to  my  expec- 
tation on  further  acquaintance.  He  might  well 
be  called  an  old  salt  who  had  been  wrecked  on 
Spitzbergen  before  I  was  born.  He  was  not  an 
American,  but  I  should  never  have  guessed  it 
by  his  speech,  which  was  the  purest  Cape  Cod, 
and  I  reckon  myself  a  good  taster  of  dialects. 
Nor  was  he  less  Americanized  in  all  his  thoughts 
and  feelings,  a  singular  proof  of  the  ease  with 
which  our  omnivorous  country  assimilates  for- 
eign matter,  provided  it  be  Protestant,  for  he 
was  a  man  ere  he  became  an  American  citizen. 
He  used  to  walk  the  deck  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  in  seeming  abstraction,  but  nothing 
escaped  his  eye.  Hoiv  he  saw  I  could  never 
make  out,  though  I  had  a  theory  that  it  was 
with  his  elbows.  After  he  had  taken  me  (or 
my  knife)  into  his  confidence,  he  took  care  that 
I  should  sec  whatever  he  deemed  of  interest  to 
a  landsman.  Without  looking  up,  he  would 
say,  suddenly,  "  There  's  a  whale  blowin'  clearn 
up  to  win'ard,"  or,  "  Them  's  porpises  to  lee- 
ward :  that  means  chinge  o'  wind."  lie  is 
as  impervious  to  cold  as  a  polar  bear,  and  paces 
the    deck    during   his  watch    much   as   one   of 


THE   CHIEF  MA  TE.  1 89 

those  yellow  hummocks  goes  slumping  up  and 
down  his  cage.  On  the  Atlantic,  if  the  wind 
blew  a  gale  from  the  northeast,  and  it  was  cold 
as  an  English  summer,  he  was  sure  to  turn  out 
in  a  calico  shirt  and  trousers,  his  furzy  brown 
chest  half  bare,  and  slippers,  without  stockings. 
But  lest  you  might  fancy  this  to  have  chanced 
by  defect  of  wardrobe,  he  comes  out  in  a  mon- 
strous pea-jacket  here  in  the  Mediterranean, 
when  the  evening  is  so  hot  that  Adam  would 
have  been  glad  to  leave  off  his  fig-leaves.  "  It 's 
a  kind  o'  damp  and  unwholesome  in  these 
ere  waters,"  he  says,  evidently  regarding  the 
Midland  Sea  as  a  vile  standing  pool,  in  compari- 
son with  the  bluff  ocean.  At  meals  he  is  su- 
perb, not  only  for  his  strengths,  but  his  weak- 
nesses. He  has  somehow  or  other  come  to  think 
me  a  wag,  and  if  I  ask  him  to  pass  the  butter, 
detects  an  occult  joke,  and  laughs  as  much  as  is 
proper  for  a  mate.  For  you  must  know  that 
our  social  hierarchy  on  shipboard  is  precise, 
and  the  second  mate,  were  he  present,  would 
only  laugh  half  as  much  as  the  first.  Mr.  X.  al- 
ways combs  his  hair,  and  works  himself  into  a 
black  frock-coat  (on  Sundays  he  adds  a  waist- 
coat) before  he  comes  to  meals,  sacrificing  him- 
self nobly  and  painfully  to  the  social  proprieties. 


190  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


The  second  mate,  on  the  other  hand,  who  eats 
after  us,  enjoys  the  privilege  of  shirt-sleeves, 
and  is,  I  think,  the  happier  man  of  the  two. 
We  do  not  have  seats  above  and  below  the 
salt,  as  in  old  time,  but  above  and  below  the 
white  sugar.  Mr.  X.  always  takes  brown  sugar, 
and  it  is  delightful  to  see  how  he  ignores  the 
existence  of  certain  dclicates  which  he  con- 
siders above  his  grade,  tipping  his  head  on  one 
side  with  an  air  of  abstraction  so  that  he  may 
seem  not  to  deny  himself,  but  to  omit  helping 
himself  from  inadvertence,  or  absence  of  mind. 
At  such  times  he  wrinkles  his  forehead  in  a 
peculiar  manner,  inscrutable  at  first  as  a  cunei- 
form inscription,  but  as  easily  read  after  you 
once  get  the  key.  The  sense  of  it  is  some- 
thing like  this:  "I,  X.,  know  my  place,  a 
height  of  wisdom  attained  by  few.  Whatever 
you  may  think,  I  do  not  see  that  currant  jelly, 
nor  that  preserved  grape.  Especially  a  kind 
Providence  has  made  me  blind  to  bowls  of 
white  sugar,  and  deaf  to  the  pop  of  champagne 
corks.  It  is  much  that  a  merciful  compensa- 
tion gives  me  a  sense  of  the  dingier  hue  of 
Havana,  and  the  muddier  gurgle  of  beer.  Are 
there  potted  meats  ?  My  physician  has  ordered 
me  three  pounds  of  minced  salt-junk  at  every 


THE   CHIEF  MATE.  I9I 

meal."  There  is  such  a  thing,  you  know,  as  a 
ship's  husband  :  X.  is  the  ship's  poor  relation. 
As  I  have  said,  he  takes  also  a  below-the-white- 
sugar  interest  in  the  jokes,  laughing  by  precise 
point  of  compass,  just  as  he  would  lay  the  ship's 
course,  all  yawing  being  out  of  the  question 
with  his  scrupulous  decorum  at  the  helm. 
Once  or  twice  I  have  got  the  better  of  him, 
and  touched  him  off  into  a  kind  of  compro- 
mised explosion,  like  that  of  damp  fireworks, 
that  splutter  and  simmer  a  little,  and  then  go 
out  with  painful  slowness  and  occasional  re- 
lapses. But  his  fuse  is  always  of  the  unwilling- 
est,  and  you  must  blow  your  match,  and  touch 
him  off  again  and  again  with  the  same  joke. 
Or  rather,  you  must  magnetize  him  many  times 
to  get  him  en  rapport  with  a  jest.  This  once 
accomplished,  you  have  him,  and  one  bit  of 
fun  will  last  the  whole  voyage.  He  pre- 
fers those  of  one  syllable,  the  a-b  abs  of  hu- 
mor. The  gradual  fattening  of  the  steward,  a 
benevolent  mulatto  with  whiskers  and  ear-rings, 
who  looks  as  if  he  had  been  meant  for  a  wo- 
man, and  had  become  a  man  by  accident,  as  in 
some  of  those  stories  by  the  elder  physiologists, 
is  an  abiding  topic  of  humorous  comment  with 
Mr.  X.     "  That  'ere  stooard,"  he  says,  with  a 


192  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


brown  grin  like  what  you  might  fancy  on  the 
face  of  a  serious  and  aged  seal,  "  's  agittin'  as 
fat  's  a  porpis.  He  was  as  thin's  a  shingle  when 
he  come  aboord  last  v'yge.  Them  trousis  '11 
bust  yit.  He  don't  darst  take  'em  off  nights, 
for  the  whole  ship's  company  could  n't  git  him 
into  'cm  agin."  And  then  he  turns  aside  to 
enjoy  the  intensity  of  his  emotion  by  himself, 
and  you  hear  at  intervals  low  rumblings,  an  in- 
digestion of  laughter.  He  tells  me  of  St. 
Elmo's  fires,  Marvell's  corposants,  though  with 
him  the  original  corpos  santos  has  suffered  a 
sea  change,  and  turned  to  comcplcasants,  pledges 
of  fine  weather.  I  shall  not  soon  find  a  pleas- 
anter  companion.  It  is  so  delightful  to  meet  a 
man  who  knows  just  what  you  do  7wt.  Nay,  I 
think  the  tired  mind  finds  something  in  plump 
ignorance  like  what  the  body  feels  in  cushiony 
moss.  Talk  of  the  sympathy  of  kindred  pur- 
suits !  It  is  the  sympathy  of  the  upper  and 
nether  millstones,  both  forever  grinding  the 
same  grist,  and  wearing  each  other  smooth. 
One  has  not  far  to  seek  for  book-nature,  artist- 
nature,  every  variety  of  superinduced  nature, 
in  short,  but  genuine  human-nature  is  hard  to 
find.  And  how  good  it  is  !  Wholesome  as  a 
potato,  fit   company  for  any  dish.     The  free- 


THE   CHIEF  MATE.  1 93 

masonry  of  cultivated  men  is  agreeable,  but 
artificial,  and  I  like  better  the  natural  grip  with 
which  manhood  recognizes  manhood. 

X.  has  one  good  story,  and  with  that  I  leave 
him,  wishing  him  with  all  my  heart  that  little 
inland  farm  at  last  which  is  his  calenture  as  he 
paces  the  windy  deck.  One  evening,  when  the 
clouds  looked  wild  and  whirling,  I  asked  X.  if 
it  was  coming  on  to  blow.  ''  No,  I  guess  not," 
said  he  ;  "  bumby  the  moon  '11  be  up,  and  scoff 
away  that  'ere  loose  stuff."  His  intonation 
set  the  phrase  "  scoff  away "  in  quotation- 
marks  as  plain  as  print.  So  I  put  a  query 
in  each  eye,  and  he  went  on.  "  Ther'  was 
a  Dutch  cappen  onct,  an'  his  mate  come  to 
him  in  the  cabin,  where  he  sot  takin'  his 
schnapps,  an'  says,  '  Cappen,  it  's  agittin'  thick, 
an'  looks  kin'  o'  squally,  hed  n't  we  's  good  's 
shorten  sail  ?  '  '  Gimmy  my  alminick,'  says  the 
cappen.  So  he  looks  at  it  a  spell,  an'  says  he, 
'  The  moon  's  due  in  less'n  half  an  hour,  an' 
she  '11  scoff  away  ev'ythin'  clare  agin.'  So  the 
mate  he  goes,  an'  bumby  down  he  comes  agin, 
an'  says, '  Cappen,  this  'ere 's  the  allfiredest,  pow- 
erfullest  moon  't  ever  you  did  see.  She  's  scoffed 
away  the  maintogallants'l,  an'  she  's  to  work  on 
the  foretops'l  now.     Guess  you  'd  better  look  in 


194  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

the  alminick  agin,  an'  fin'  out  when  tJiis  moon 
sets.  So  the  cappen  thought  't  was  'bout  time 
to  go  on  deck.  Dreadful  slow  them  Dutch 
cappens  be."  And  X.  walked  away,  rumbling 
inwardly,  like  the  rote  of  the  sea  heard  afar. 

— Fireside  Travels. 

THE    COURTIN'. 

God  makes  such  nights,  all  white  an'  still 

Fur  'z  you  can  look  or  listen, 
Moonshine  an'  snow  on  field  an'  hill, 

All  silence  and  all  glisten. 

Zekle  crep'  up  quite  unbeknown 

An'  peeked  in  thru  the  winder. 
An'  there  sot  Huldy  all  alone, 

'ith  no  one  nigh  to  hender. 

A  fireplace  filled  the  room's  one  side 
With  a  half  a  cord  o*  wood  in — 

There  warn't  no  stoves  (tell  comfort  died) 
To  bake  ye  to  a  puddin'. 

The  wa'nut  logs  shot  sparkles  out 
Towards  the  pootiest,  bless  her, 

An'  leetle  flames  danced  all  about 
The  chiny  on  the  dresser. 


THE   COURTIN'.  1 95 

Agin  the  chimbley  crook-necks  hung, 

An'  in  amongst  'em  rusted 
The  ole  queen's-arm  thet  gran'ther  Young 

Fetched  back  from  Concord  busted. 

The  very  room,  coz  she  was  in, 
Seemed  warm  from  floor  to  ceilin', 

An'  she  looked  full  ez  rosy  agin 
Ez  the  apples  she  was  peelin'. 

'T  was  kin'  o'  kingdom-come  to  look 

On  sech  a  blessed  cretur, 
A  dogrose  blushin'  to  a  brook 

Ain't  modester  nor  sweeter. 

He  was  six  foot  o'  man,  A  I, 

Clear  grit  an'  human  natur'  ; 
None  could  n't  quicker  pitch  a  ton 

Nor  dror  a  furrer  straighter. 

He  'd  sparked  it  with  full  twenty  gals, 
Hed  squired  'em,  danced  'em,  druv  'em, 

Fust  this  one,  an'  then  thet,  by  spells — 
All  is,  he  could  n't  love  'em. 

But  long  o'  her  his  veins  'ould  run 
All  crinkly  like  curled  maple, 


196  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

The  side  she  breshcd  felt  full  o'  sun 
Ez  a  south  slope  in  Ap'il. 

She  thought  no  v'ice  hed  sech  a  swing 

Ez  hisn  in  the  choir  ; 
My  !  when  he  made  Ole  Hundred  ring, 

She  knowed  the  Lord  was  nigher. 

An'  she  *d  blush  scarlit,  right  in  prayer, 
When  her  new  meetin'-bunnet 

Felt  somehow  thru  its  crown  a  pair 
O'  blue  eyes  sot  upon  it. 

Thet  night,  I  tell  ye,  she  looked  some  ! 

She  seemed  to  've  gut  a  new  soul. 
For  she  felt  sartin-sure  he  'd  come, 

Down  to  her  very  shoe-sole. 

She  hcercd  a  foot,  an'  knowed  it  tu, 
A-raspin'  on  the  scraper, — 

All  ways  to  once  her  feelin's  flew 
Like  sparks  in  burnt-up  paper. 

He  kin'  o'  I'itered  on  the  mat, 
Some  doubtflc  o'  the  sckle. 

His  heart  kep*  goin'  pity-pat, 
But  hern  went  pity  Zekle. 


THE   COURTIN\  1 97 


An'  yit  she  gin  her  cheer  a  jerk 
Ez  though  she  wished  him  furder, 

An*  on  her  apples  kep'  to  work, 
Parin'  away  like  murder. 

"  You  want  to  see  my  Pa,  I  s'pose  ?  " 
"  Wal  ...  no  ...  I  come  dasignin  " 

*'  To  see  my  Ma  ?     She  's  sprinklin'  clo'es 
Agin  to-morrer's  i'nin'." 

To  say  why  gals  acts  so  or  so. 

Or  don't,  'ould  be  presumin' ; 
Mebby  to  mean  yes  an'  say  710 

Comes  nateral  to  women. 

He  stood  a  spell  on  one  foot  fust, 
Then  stood  a  spell  on  t'  other, 

An'  on  which  one  he  felt  the  wust 
He  could  n't  ha'  told  ye  nuther. 

Says  he,  "  I  'd  better  call  agin  "  ; 

Says  she,  "  Think  likely,  Mister  "  : 
Thet  last  word  pricked  him  like  a  pin, 

An'  .  .  .  Wal,  he  up  an'  kist  her. 

When  Ma  bimeby  upon  'em  slips, 
Huldy  sot  pale  ez  ashes, 


198  JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 

All  kin'  o'  smily  roun'  the  lips 
An'  teary  roun'  the  lashes. 

For  she  was  jes'  the  quiet  kind 

Whose  naturs  never  vary, 
Like  streams  that  keep  a  summer  mind 

Snowhid  in  Jenooary. 

The  blood  clost  roun'  her  heart  felt  glued 

Too  tight  for  all  cxpressin', 
Tell  mother  see  how  metters  stood, 

An'  gin  'em  both  her  blessin'. 

Then  her  red  come  back  like  the  tide 

Down  to  the  Bay  o'  Fundy, 
An'  all  I  know  is  thej^  was  cried 

In  meetin'  come  nex'  Sunday. 

— Biglow  Papers. 


LUCRETIA  P.  HALE. 

(Born,  1820.) 


MODERN   IMPROVEMENTS  AT   THE  PETERKINS  . 

AGAMEMNON  felt  that  it  became  neces- 
sary for  him  to  choose  a  profession. 
It  was  important  on  account  of  the  little  boys. 
If  he  should  make  a  trial  of  several  different 
professions,  he  could  find  out  which  would  be 
the  most  likely  to  be  successful,  and  it  would 
then  be  easy  to  bring  up  the  little  boys  in  the 
right  direction. 

Elizabeth  Eliza  agreed  with  this.  She 
thought  the  family  occasionally  made  mistakes, 
and  had  come  near  disgracing  themselves.  Now 
was  their  chance  to  avoid  this  in  future,  by  giv- 
ing the  little  boys  a  proper  education. 

Solomon  John  was  almost  determined  to  be- 
come a  doctor.  From  earliest  childhood  he 
had  practised  writing  recipes  on  little  slips  of 
paper.  Mrs.  Peterkin,  to  be  sure,  was  afraid  of 
infection.     She  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  his 

199 


200  LUCRE TIA   P.  HALE. 

bringing  one  disease  after  the  other  into  the 
family  circle.  Solomon  John,  too,  did  not  like 
sick  people.  He  thought  he  might  manage  it, 
if  he  should  not  have  to  see  his  patients  while 
they  were  sick.  If  he  could  only  visit  them 
when  they  were  recovering,  and  when  the  dan- 
ger of  infection  was  over,  he  would  really  enjoy 
making  calls. 

He  should  have  a  comfortable  doctor's 
chaise,  and  take  one  of  the  little  boys  to  hold 
his  horse  while  he  went  in,  and  he  thought  he 
could  get  through  the  conversational  part  very 
well,  and  feeling  the  pulse,  perhaps  looking  at 
the  tongue.  He  should  take  and  read  all  the 
newspapers,  and  so  be  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  news  of  the  day  to  talk  of.  But  he 
should  not  like  to  be  waked  up  at  night  to 
visit.  Mr.  Petcrkin  thought  that  would  not  be 
necessary.  He  had  seen  signs  oa  doors  of 
"  Night  Doctor,"  and  certainly  it  would  be  as 
convenient  to  have  a  sign  of  "  Not  a  Night 
Doctor." 

Solomon  John  thought  he  might  write  his 
advice  to  those  of  his  patients  who  were  dan- 
gerously ill,  from  whom  there  was  danger  of  in- 
fection. And  then  Elizabeth  Eliza  agreed  that 
I'.is  prescriptions  would  probably  be  so  satisfac- 


MODERN  IMPROVEJMEXTS.  201 

tory  that  they  would  keep  his  patients  well,  not 
too  well  to  do  without  a  doctor,  but  needing 
his  recipes. 

Agamemnon  was  delayed,  however,  in  his 
choice  of  a  profession  by  a  desire  he  had  to  be- 
come a  famous  inventor.  If  he  could  only  in- 
vent something  important,  and  get  out  a  patent, 
he  would  make  himself  known  all  over  the 
country.  If  he  could  get  out  a  patent,  he 
would  be  set  up  for  life,  or  at  least  as  long  as 
the  patent  lasted,  and  it  would  be  well  to  be 
sure  to  arrange  it  to  last  through  his  natural 
life. 

Indeed,  he  had  gone  so  far  as  to  make  his 
invention.  It  had  been  suggested  by  their 
trouble  with  a  key,  in  their  late  moving  to  their 
new  house.  He  had  studied  the  matter  over  a 
great  deal.  He  looked  it  up  in  the  Encyclo- 
paedia, and  had  spent  a  day  or  two  in  the  Public 
Library,  in  reading  about  Chubb's  Lock,  and 
other  patent  locks. 

But  his  plan  was  more  simple.  It  was  this  : 
that  all  keys  should  be  made  alike !  He  won- 
dered it  had  not  been  thought  of  before,  but  so 
it  was,  Solomon  John  said,  with  all  inventions, 
with  Christopher  Columbus,  and  everybody. 
Nobody  knew  the  invention  till  it  was  invented, 


202  LUCRE TI A    P.  HALE. 

and  then  it  looked  very  simple.  With  Aga- 
memnon's plan,  you  need  have  but  one  key,  that 
should  fit  every  thing!  It  should  be  a  medium- 
sized  key,  not  too  large  to  carry.  It  ought  to 
answer  for  a  house  door,  but  you  might  open  a 
portmanteau  with  it.  How  much  less  danger 
there  would  be  of  losing  one's  keys,  if  there 
were  only  one  to  lose  ! 

Mrs.  Petcrkin  thought  it  would  be  inconven- 
ient if  their  father  were  out,  and  she  wanted  to 
open  the  jam-closet  for  the  little  boys.  But 
Agamemnon  explained  that  he  did  not  mean 
there  should  be  but  one  key  in  the  family,  or 
in  a  town, — you  might  have  as  many  as  you 
pleased, — only  they  should  all  be  alike. 

Elizabeth  Eliza  felt  it  would  be  a  great  con- 
venience— they  could  keep  the  front  door 
always  locked,  yet  she  could  open  it  with  the 
key  of  her  upper  drawer;  that  she  was  sure  to 
have  with  her.  And  Mrs.  Peterkin  felt  it  might 
be  a  convenience  if  they  had  one  on  each  story, 
so  that  they  need  not  go  up  and  down  for  it. 

Mr.  Peterkin  studied  all  the  papers  and  ad- 
vertisements, to  decide  about  the  lawyer  whom 
they  should  consult,  and  at  last,  one  morning, 
they  went  into  town  to  visit  a  patent-agent. 

Elizabeth  Eliza  took  the  occasion  to  make  a 


MODERN  IMPROVEMENTS.  203 

call  upon  the  lady  from  Philadelphia,  but  she 
came  back  hurriedly  to  her  mother. 

"  I  have  had  a  delightful  call,"  she  said,  "but 
perhaps  I  was  wrong,  I  could  not  help,  in  con- 
versation, speaking  of  Agamemnon's  proposed 
patent.  I  ought  not  to  have  mentioned  it,  as 
such  things  are  kept  profound  secrets;  they  say 
women  always  do  tell  things,  I  suppose  that  is 
the  reason." 

"  But  where  is  the  harm  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Peter- 
kin.  "  I  'm  sure  you  can  trust  the  lady  from 
Philadelphia  !  " 

Elizabeth  Eliza  then  explained  that  the  lady 
from  Philadelphia  had  questioned  the  plan  a 
little,  when  it  was  told  her,  and  had  suggested 
that  "  if  every  body  had  the  same  key  there 
would  be  no  particular  use  in  a  lock." 

"  Did  you  explain  to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Peter- 
kin,  "that  we  were  not  all  to  have  the  same 
keys?" 

"  I  could  n't  quite  understand  her,"  said 
Elizabeth  Eliza,  "but  she  seemed  to  think  that 
burglars  and  other  people  might  come  in,  if  the 
keys  were  the  same." 

"Agamemnon  would  not  sell  his  patent  to 
burglars  !  "  said  Mrs.  Peterkin,  indignantly. 

"But  about  other people,"said  Elizabeth  Eliza, 


204  LUCRETIA    P.  HALE. 

"  there  is  my  upper  drawer ;  the  little  boys 
might  open  it  at  Christmas-time, — and  their 
presents  in  it !  " 

"And  I  am  not  sure  that  I  could  trust 
Amanda,"  said  Mrs.  Peterkin,  considering. 

Both  she  and  Elizabeth  Eliza  felt  that  Mr. 
Peterkin  ought  to  know  what  the  lady  from 
Philadelphia  had  suggested.  Elizabeth  Eliza 
then  proposed  going  into  town,  but  it  would 
take  so  long,  she  might  not  reach  them  in  time. 
A  telegram  would  be  better,  and  she  ventured 
to  suggest  using  the  Telegraph  Alarm. 

For,  on  moving  into  their  new  house,  they 
had  discovered  it  was  provided  with  all  the 
modern  improvements.  This  had  been  a  dis- 
appointment to  Mrs.  Peterkin,  for  she  was 
afraid  of  them,  since  their  experience  the  last 
winter,  when  their  water-pipes  were  frozen  up. 
She  had  been  originally  attracted  to  the  house 
by  an  old  pump  at  the  side,  which  had  led  her 
to  believe  there  were  no  modern  improvements. 
It  had  pleased  the  little  boys,  too.  They  liked 
to  pump  the  handle  up  and  down,  and  agreed 
to  pump  all  the  water  needed,  and  bring  it  into 
the  house. 

There  was  also  an  old  well,  with  a  picturesque 
well-sweep,  in  a  corner  by  the  barn.    Mrs.  Peter- 


MODERN'  IMPROVEMENTS.  20$ 

kin  was  frightened  by  this,  at  first.  She  was 
afraid  the  little  boys  would  be  falling  in 
every  day.  And  they  showed  great  fond- 
ness for  pulling  the  bucket  up  and  down.  It 
proved,  however,  that  the  well  was  dry.  There 
was  no  water  in  it,  so  she  had  some  moss  thrown 
down,  and  an  old  feather  bed,  for  safety,  and 
the  old  well  was  a  favorite  place  of  amusement. 

"  The  house,  it  had  proved,  was  well  fur- 
nished with  bath-rooms,  and  "  set-waters,"  every 
where.  Water-pipes  and  gas-pipes  all  over  the 
house ;  and  a  hack-telegraph,  and  fire-alarm, 
with  a  little  knob  for  each. 

Mrs.  Peterkin  was  very  anxious.  She  feared 
the  little  boys  would  be  summoning  some- 
body all  the  time,  and  it  was  decided  to  con- 
ceal from  them  the  use  of  the  knobs,  and  the 
card  of  directions  at  the  side  was  destroyed. 
Agamemnon  had  made  one  of  his  first  inven- 
tions to  help  this.  He  had  arranged  a  number 
of  similar  knobs  to  be  put  in  rows  in  different 
parts  of  the  house,  to  appear  as  if  they  were  in- 
tended for  ornament,  and  had  added  some  to 
the  original  knobs. 

Mrs.  Peterkin  felt  more  secure,  and  Aga- 
memnon thought  of  taking  out  a  patent  for 
this  invention. 


206  LUCRETIA    P.  HALE. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  some  doubt  that  Eliza- 
beth  Eliza  proposed  sending  a  telegram  to  hcf 
father.  Mrs.  Peterkin,  however,  was  pleased 
with  the  idea.  Solomon  John  was  out,  and 
the  little  boys  were  at  school,  and  she  herself 
would  touch  the  knob,  while  Elizabeth  Eliza 
should  write  the  telegram, 

"  I  think  it  is  the  fourth  knob  from  the  begin- 
ning," she  said,  looking  at  one  of  the  rows  of 
knobs. 

Elizabeth  Eliza  was  sure  of  this.  Agamemnon, 
she  believed,  had  put  three  extra  knobs  at  each 
end. 

"  But  which  is  the  end,  and  which  is  the  be- 
ginning— the  top  or  the  bottom  ?  "  Mrs.  Peter- 
kin  asked,  hopelessly. 

Still  she  bravely  selected  a  knob,  and  Eliza- 
beth Eliza  hastened  with  her  to  look  out  for 
the  messenger.  How  soon  should  they  seethe 
telegraph  boy  ? 

They  seemed  to  have  scarcely  reached  the 
window,  when  a  terrible  noise  was  heard,  and 
down  the  shady  street  the  white  horses  of  the 
fire-brigade  were  seen  rushing  at  a  fatal  speed  ! 
It  was  a  terrific  moment  ! 

"  I  have  touched  the  fire-alarm,"  Mrs.  Peter- 
kin  exclaimed. 


MODERN  IMPROVEMENTS.  20/ 

Both  rushed  to  open  the  front  door  in  agony. 
By  this  time,  the  fire-engines  were  approaching. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  the  chief  engineer, 
"  the  furniture  shall  be  carefully  covered,  and 
we  will  move  all  that  is  necessary." 

"  Move  again  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Peterkin,  in 
agony. 

Elizabeth  Eliza  strove  to  explain  that  she 
was  only  sending  a  telegram  to  her  father,  who 
was  in  Boston. 

"  It  is  not  important,"  said  the  head  en- 
gineer, "  the  fire  will  all  be  out  before  it  could 
reach  him." 

And  he  ran  up  stairs,  for  the  engines  were 
beginning  to  play  upon  the  roof. 

Mrs.  Peterkin  rushed  to  the  knobs  again, 
hurriedly  ;  there  was  more  necessity  for  sum- 
moning Mr.  Peterkin  home. 

"  Write  a  telegram  to  your  father,"  she  said 
to  Elizabeth  Eliza,  "to  '  come  home  directly.'  " 

"  That  will  take  but  three  words,"  said  Eliza- 
beth Eliza,  with  presence  of  mind,  "  and  we 
need  ten.     I  was  just  trying  to  make  them  out." 

"  What  has  come  now  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Peterkin,  and  they  hurried  again  to  the  win- 
dow, to  see  a  row  of  carriages  coming  down  the 
street. 


2o8  LUCRE TI A   P.  HALE. 

"  I  must  have  touched  the  carriage-knob," 
cried  Mrs.  Pctcrkin,  "  and  I  pushed  it  half  a 
dozen  times,  I  felt  so  anxious!  " 

Six  hacks  stood  before  the  door.  All  the 
village  boys  were  assembling.  Even  their  own 
h"ttle  boys  had  returned  from  school,  and  were 
showing  the  firemen  the  way  to  the  well. 

Again  Mrs.  Peterkin  rushed  to  the  knobs, 
and  a  fearful  sound  arose.  She  had  touched 
the  burglar  alarm  ! 

The  former  owner  of  the  house,  who  had  a 
great  fear  of  burglars,  had  invented  a  machine  of 
his  own,  which  he  had  connected  with  a  knob.  A 
wire  attached  to  the  knob  moved  a  spring  that 
could  put  in  motion  a  number  of  watchman's  rat- 
tles, hidden  under  the  eaves  of  the  piazza. 

All  these  were  now  set  a-going,  and  their 
terrible  din  roused  those  of  the  neighborhood 
who  had  not  before  assembled  around  the 
house.  At  this  moment,  Elizabeth  Eliza  met 
the  chief  engineer. 

"  You  need  not  send  for  more  help,"  he  said; 
"  we  have  all  the  engines  in  town  here,  and  have 
stirred  up  all  the  towns  in  the  neighborhood  ; 
there  's  no  use  in  springing  any  more  alarms. 
I  can't  find  the  fire  yet,  but  we  have  water 
pouring  all  over  the  house." 


MODERN  IMPROVEMENTS.  209 

Elizabeth  Eliza  waved  her  telegram  in  the 
air. 

"  We  are  only  trying  to  send  a  telegram  to 
my  father  and  brother,  who  are  in  town,"  she 
endeavored  to  explain, 

"  If  it  is  necessary,"  said  the  chief  engineer, 
"  you  might  send  it  down  in  one  of  the  hack- 
ney carriages.  I  see  a  number  standing  before 
the  door.  We  'd  better  begin  to  move  the 
heavier  furniture,  and  some  of  you  women 
might  fill  the  carriages  with  smaller  things." 

Mrs.  Peterkin  was  ready  to  fall  into  hysterics. 
She  controlled  herself  with  a  supreme  power, 
and  hastened  to  touch  another  knob. 

Elizabeth  Eliza  corrected  her  telegram,  and 
decided  to  take  the  advice  of  the  chief  engineer, 
and  went  to  the  door  to  give  her  message  to 
one  of  the  hackmen,  when  she  saw  a  telegraph 
boy  appear.  Her  mother  had  touched  the  right 
knob.  It  was  the  fourth  from  the  beginning, 
but  the  beginning  was  at  the  other  end  ! 

She  went  out  to  meet  the  boy,  when,  to  her 
joy,  she  saw  behind  him  her  father  and  Aga- 
memnon. She  clutched  her  telegram,  and 
hurried  toward  them.  Mr.  Peterkin  was  be- 
wildered. Was  the  house  on  fire  ?  If  so, 
where  were  the  flames  ? 


210  LUCRE TI A    P.  HALE. 

He  saw  the  row  of  carriages.  Was  there  a 
funeral,  or  a  wedding  ?  Who  was  dead  ?  Who 
was  to  be  married  ? 

He  seized  the  telegram  that  Elizabeth  Eliza 
reached  to  him,  and  read  it  aloud. 

"  Come  to  us  directly — the  house  is  NOT  on 
fire  !  " 

The  chief  engineer  was  standing  on  the  steps. 

"The  house  not  on  fire!"  he  exclaimed. 
"What  arc  we  all  summoned  for?" 

"  It  is  a  mistake,"  cried  Elizabeth  Eliza, 
wringing  her  hands.  "  We  touched  the  wrong 
knob  ;  we  wanted  the  telegraph  boy  !  " 

"  We  touched  all  the  wrong  knobs,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Peterkin,  from  the  house. 

The  chief  engineer  turned  directly  to  give 
counter-directions,  with  a  few  exclamations  of 
disgust,  as  the  bells  of  distant  fire-engines  were 
heard  approaching. 

Solomon  John  appeared  at  this  moment,  and 
proposed  taking  one  of  the  carriages,  and  going 
for  a  doctor  for  his  mother,  for  she  \\as  now 
nearly  ready  to  fall  into  hysterics,  and  Aga- 
memnon thought  to  send  a  telegram  down  by 
the  boy,  for  the  evening  papers,  to  announce 
that  the  Peterkins'  house  had  not  been  on  fire. 

The  crisis  of  the  commotion  had  reached  its 


MODERN  IMPROVEMENTS.  211 

height.  The  beds  of  flowers  bordered  with 
dark-colored  leaves  were  trodden  down  by  the 
feet  of  the  crowd  that  had  assembled. 

The  chief  engineer  grew  more  and  more  in- 
dignant, as  he  sent  his  men  to  order  back  the 
fire-engines  from  the  neighboring  towns.  The 
collection  of  boys  followed  the  procession  as  it 
went  away.  The  fire-brigade  hastily  removed 
covers  from  some  of  the  furniture,  restored  the 
rest  to  their  places,  and  took  away  their  lad- 
ders. Many  neighbors  remained,  but  Mr. 
Peterkin  hastened  into  the  house  to  attend  to 
Mrs.  Peterkin. 

Elizabeth  Eliza  took  an  opportunity  to  ques- 
tion her  father,  before  he  went  in,  as  to  the 
success  of  their  visit  to  town. 

"We  saw  all  the  patent-agents,"  answered 
Mr.  Peterkin,  in  a  hollow  whisper.  "  Not  one 
of  them  will  touch  the  patent,  or  have  any  thing 
to  do  with  it." 

Elizabeth  Eliza  looked  at  Agamemnon,  as  he 
walked  silently  into  the  house.  She  would  not 
now  speak  to  him  of  the  patent  ;  but  she  re- 
called some  words  of  Solomon  John.  When 
they  were  discussing  the  patent,  he  had  said 
that  many  an  inventor  had  grown  gray  before 
his  discovery  was  acknowledged  by  the  public. 


212  LUCRETIA    P.  HALE. 

Others  might  reap  the  harvest,  but    it  came, 
perhaps,  only  when  he  was  going  to  his  grave. 

Elizabeth  Eliza  looked  at  Agamemnon  rever- 
ently, and  followed  him  silently  into  the  house. 
—  TJie  Peter  kin  Papers. 


EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

(born,  1822.) 


MY  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE  UNDID  ME. 

IT  is  not  often  that  I  trouble  the  readers  of 
the  Atlantic  MontJily.  I  should  not  trouble 
them  now,  but  for  the  importunities  of  my 
wife,  who  "  feels  to  insist  "  that  a  duty  to  so- 
ciety is  unfulfilled,  till  I  have  told  why  I  had  to 
have  a  double,  and  how  he  undid  me.  She  is 
sure,  she  says,  that  intelligent  persons  cannot 
understand  that  pressure  upon  public  servants 
which  alone  drives  any  man  into  the  employ- 
ment of  a  double.  And  while  I  fear  she  thinks, 
at  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  that  my  fortunes 
will  never  be  remade,  she  has  a  faint  hope  that, 
as  another  Rasselas,  I  may  teach  a  lesson  to 
future  publics,  from  which  they  may  profit, 
though  we  die.  Owing  to  the  behavior  of  my 
double,  or,  if  you  please,  to  that  public  pressure 
which  compelled  me  to  employ  him,  I  have 
plenty  of  leisure  to  write  this  communication. 

2I» 


1 4  ED  IV A  RD  E  VERE  TT  HALE. 


I  am,  or  rather  was,  a  minister,  of  the  Sande- 
manian  connection.  I  was  settled  in  the  active, 
wide-awake  town  of  Naguadavick,  on  one  of 
the  finest  water-powers  in  Maine.  We  used  to 
call  it  a  Western  town  in  the  heart  of  the  civil- 
ization of  New  England.  A  charming  place  it 
was  and  is.  A  spirited,  brave  young  parish  had 
I,  and  it  seemed  as  if  we  miglit  have  all  "  the 
joy  of  eventful  living"  to  our  hearts'  content. 

Alas !  how  little  we  knew  on  the  day  of  my 
ordination,  and  in  those  halcyon  moments  of 
our  first  house-keeping.  To  be  the  confidential 
friend  in  a  hundred  families  in  the  town, — cutting 
the  social  trifle,  as  my  friend  Haliburton  says, 
"  from  the  top  of  the  whipped  syllabub  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sponge-cake,  which  is  the  founda- 
tion,"— to  keep  abreast  of  the  thought  of  the 
age  in  one's  study,  and  to  do  one's  best  on  Sun- 
day to  interweave  that  thought  with  the  active 
life  of  an  active  town,  and  to  inspirit  both  and 
to  make  both  infinite  by  glimpses  of  the 
Eternal  Glory,  seemed  such  an  exquisite  fore- 
look  into  one's  life  !  Enough  to  do,  and  all  so 
real  and  so  grand  I  If  this  vision  could  only 
have  lasted  ! 

The  truth  is,  this  vision  was  not  in  itself 
a  delusion,  nor,  indeed,  half  bright  enough.     If 


MY  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID   ME.    21$ 

one  could  only  have  been  left  to  do  his  own 
business,  the  vision  would  have  accomplished 
itself  and  brought  out  new  paraheliacal  visions, 
each  as  bright  as  the  original.  The  misery  was 
and  is,  as  we  found  out,  I  and  Polly,  before 
long,  that  beside  the  vision,  and  besides  the 
usual  human  and  finite  failures  in  life  (such  as 
breaking  the  old  pitcher  that  came  over  in  the 
"  Mayflower,"  and  putting  into  the  fire  the 
Alpenstock  with  which  her  father  climbed 
Mont  Blanc), — besides  these,  I  say  (imitating 
the  style  of  Robinson  Crusoe),  there  were  pitch- 
forked in  on  us  a  great  rowen-heap  of  humbugs, 
handed  down  from  some  unknown  seed-time, 
in  which  we  were  expected,  and  I  chiefiy,  to 
fulfil  certain  public  functions  before  the  com- 
munity, of  the  character  of  those  fulfilled  by 
the  third  row  of  supernumeraries  who  stand  be- 
hind the  Sepoys  in  the  spectacle  of  the  "  Cata- 
ract of  the  Ganges."  They  were  the  duties,  in 
a  word,  which  one  performs  as  member  of  one 
or  another  social  class  or  subdivision,  wholly 
distinct  from  what  one  does  as  A.  by  himself 
A.  What  invisible  power  put  these  functions 
on  me,  it  would  be  very  hard  to  tell.  But  such 
power  there  was  and  is.  And  I  had  not  been 
at  work  a  year  before  I  found  I  was  living  two 


2l6  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

lives,  one  real  and  one  merely  functional, — for 
two  sets  of  people,  one  my  parish,  whom  I 
loved,  and  the  other  a  vague  public,  for  whom 
I  did  not  care  two  straws.  All  this  was  a 
vague  notion,  which  ever>'body  had  and  has, 
that  this  second  life  would  eventually  bring 
out  some  great  results,  unknown  at  present,  to 
somebody  somewhere. 

Crazed  by  this  duality  of  life,  I  first  read  Dr. 
Wigan  on  the  "  Duality  of  the  Brain,"  hoping 
that  I  could  train  one  side  of  my  head  to  do 
these  outside  jobs,  and  the  other  to  do  my  in- 
timate and  real  duties.  .  .  .  But  Dr.  Wigan 
does  not  go  into  these  niceties  of  this  subject, 
and  I  failed.  It  was  then  that,  on  my  wife's 
suggestion,  I  resolved  to  look  out  for  a  Double. 

I  was,  at  first,  singularly  successful.  We 
happened  to  be  recreating  at  Stafford  Springs 
that  summer.  We  rode  out  one  day,  for  one 
of  the  relaxations  of  that  watering-place,  to  the 
great  Monson  Poorhouse.  We  were  passing 
through  one  of  the  large  halls,  when  my  des- 
tiny was  fulfilled  ! 

He  was  not  shaven.  He  had  on  no  specta- 
cles. He  was  dressed  in  a  green  baize  round- 
about and  faded  blue  overalls,  worn  sadly  at 
the  knee.     But  I   saw  at  once  that  he  was  of 


IHY  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.     21/ 

my  height,  five  feet  four  and  a  half.  He  had 
black  hair,  worn  off  by  his  hat.  So  have  and 
have  not  I.  He  stooped  in  walking.  So  do  I. 
His  hands  were  large,  and  mine.  And — choi- 
cest gift  of  Fate  in  all — he  had,  not  "  a  straw- 
berry-mark on  his  left  arm,"  but  a  cut  from  a 
juvenile  brickbat  over  his  right  eye,  slightly 
affecting  the  play  of  that  eyebrow.  Reader,  so 
have  I !  My  fate  was  sealed  ! 

A  word  with  Mr.  Holly,  one  of  the  inspec- 
tors, settled  the  whole  thing.  It  proved  that 
this  Dennis  Shea  was  a  harmless,  amiable  fel- 
low, of  the  class  known  as  shiftless,  who  had 
sealed  his  fate  by  marrying  a  dumb  wife,  who 
was  at  that  moment  ironing  in  the  laundry. 
Before  I  left  Stafford,  I  had  hired  both  for  five 
years.  We  had  applied  to  Judge  Pynchon, 
then  the  probate  judge  at  Springfield,  to  change 
the  name  of  Dennis  Shea  to  Frederic  Ingham. 
We  had  explained  to  the  judge,  what  was  the 
precise  truth,  that  an  eccentric  gentleman 
wished  to  adopt  Dennis,  under  this  new  name, 
into  his  family.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that 
Dennis  might  be  more  than  fourteen  years  old. 
And  thus,  to  shorten  this  preface,  when  we  re- 
turned at  night  to  my  parsonage  at  Naguada- 
vick,  there  entered  Mrs.  Ingham,  her  new  dumb 


2l8  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

laundress,  myself,  who  am  Mr,  Frederic  Ingham, 
and  my  double,  who  was  Mr.  Frederic  Ingham 
by  as  good  right  as  I. 

O  the  fun  we  had  the  next  morning  in  shav- 
ing his  beard  to  my  pattern,  cutting  his  hair  to 
match  mine,  and  teaching  him  how  to  wear  and 
how  to  take  off  gold-bowed  spectacles !  Really, 
they  were  electro-plate,  and  the  glass  was  plain 
(for  the  poor  fellow's  eyes  were  excellent). 
Then  in  four  successive  afternoons  I  taught 
him  four  speeches.  I  had  found  these  would 
be  quite  enough  for  the  supernumerary-Sepoy 
line  of  life,  and  it  was  well  for  me  they  were ; 
for  though  he  was  good-natured,  he  was  very 
shiftless,  and  it  was,  as  our  national  proverb 
says,  "  like  pulling  teeth  "  to  teach  him.  But 
at  the  end  of  the  next  week  he  could  say,  with 
quite  my  easy  and  frisky  air  : — 

1.  "  Very  well,  thank  you.  And  you  ?  "  This 
for  an  answer  to  casual  salutations. 

2.  "  I  am  very  glad  you  liked  it." 

3.  "  There  has  been  so  much  said,  and,  on 
the  whole,  so  well  said,  that  I  will  not  occupy 
the  time." 

4.  "  I  agree,  in  general,  with  my  friend  the 
other  side  of  the  room." 

At  first  1  had  a  feeling  that  I  was  going  to 


MV  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID   ME.     2ig 

be  at  great  cost  for  clothing  him.  But  it 
proved,  of  course,  at  once,  that,  whenever  he 
was  out,  I  should  be  at  home.  And  I  went, 
during  the  bright  period  of  his  success,  to  so 
few  of  those  awful  pageants  which  require  a 
black  dress-coat  and  what  the  ungodly  call, 
after  Mr.  Dickens,  a  white  choker,  that  in  the 
happy  retreat  of  my  own  dressing-gowns  and 
jackets  my  days  went  by  as  happily  and 
cheaply  as  those  of  another  Thalaba.  And 
Polly  declares  there  never  was  a  year  when  the 
tailoring  cost  so  little.  He  lived  (Dennis  not 
Thalaba)  in  his  wife's  room  over  the  kitchen. 
He  had  orders  never  to  show  himself  at  that 
window.  When  he  appeared  in  the  front  of 
the  house,  I  retired  to  my  sanctissimum  and 
my  dressing-gown.  In  short,  the  Dutchman 
and  his  wife,  in  the  old  weather-box,  had  not 
less  to  do  with  each  other  than  he  and  I.  He 
made  the  furnace-fire  and  split  the  wood  before 
daylight ;  then  he  went  to  sleep  again,  and 
slept  late  ;  then  came  for  orders,  with  a  red 
silk  bandanna  tied  round  his  head,  with  his 
overalls  on,  and  his  dress-coat  and  spectacles 
off.  If  we  happened  to  be  interrupted,  no  one 
guessed  that  he  was  Frederic  Ingham  as  well 
as  I  ;  and,  in  the  neighborhood,  there  grew  up 


220  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 


an  impression  that  the  nriinister's  Irishman 
worked  day-times  in  the  factory-village  at  New 
Coventry.  After  I  had  given  him  his  orders,  I 
never  saw  him  till  the  next  day. 

I  launched  him  by  sending  him  to  a  meeting 
of  the  Enlightenment  Board.  The  Enlighten- 
ment Board  consists  of  seventy-four  members, 
of  whom  sixty-seven  are  necessary  to  form  a 
quorum.  ...  At  this  particular  time  we 
had  had  four  successive  meetings,  averaging 
four  hours  each, — wholly  occupied  in  whipping 
in  a  quorum.  At  the  first  only  eleven  men  were 
present  ;  at  the  next,  by  force  of  three  circu- 
lars, twenty-seven  ;  at  the  third,  thanks  to  two 
days'  canvassing  by  Auchmuty  and  myself, 
begging  men  to  come,  we  had  sixty.  Half  the 
others  were  in  Europe.  But  without  a  quorum 
we  could  do  nothing.  All  the  rest  of  us  waited 
grimly  for  our  four  hours,  and  adjourned  with- 
out any  action.  At  the  fourth  meeting  we  had 
flagged,  and  only  got  fifty-nine  together. 

But  on  the  first  appearance  of  my  double, — 
whom  I  sent  on  this  fatal  Monday  to  the  fifth 
meeting, — he  was  the  sixty-seventh  man  who 
entered  the  room.  He  was  greeted  with  a 
storm  of  applause  !  The  poor  fellow  had 
missed    his    way, — read     the    street    signs    ill 


MV  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.    221 

through  his  spectacles  (very  ill,  in  fact,  without 
them), — and  had  not  dared  to  enquire.  He 
entered  the  room, — finding  the  president  and 
secretary  holding  to  their  chairs  two  judges  of 
the  Supreme  Court,  who  were  also  members 
ex  officio,  and  were  begging  leave  to  go  away. 
On  his  entrance  all  was  changed.  Presto,  the 
by-laws  were  suspended,  and  the  Western 
property  was  given  away.  Nobody  stopped  to 
converse  with  him.  He  voted,  as  I  had  charged 
him  to  do,  in  every  instance,  with  the  minority. 
I  won  new  laurels  as  a  man  of  sense,  though  a 
little  unpunctual, — and  Dennis,  alias  Ingham, 
returned  to  the  parsonage,  astonished  to  see 
with  how  little  wisdom  the  world  is  governed. 
He  cut  a  few  of  my  parishioners  in  the  street ; 
but  he  had  his  glasses  off,  and  I  am  known  to 
be  near-sighted.  Eventually  he  recognized 
them  more  readily  than  I.     .     .     . 

After  this  he  went  to  several  Commence- 
ments for  me,  and  ate  the  dinners  provided  ; 
he  sat  through  three  of  our  Quarterly  Conven- 
tions for  me, — always  voting  judiciously,  by  the 
simple  rule  mentioned  above,  of  siding  with  the 
minority.  And  I  meanwhile,  who  had  before 
been  losing  caste  among  my  friends,  as  holding 
myself  aloof  from  the  associations  of  the  body. 


222  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

began  to  rise  in  everybody's  favor.  "  Ingham  's 
a  good  fellow, — always  on  hand";  "never 
talks  much,  but  does  the  right  thing  at  the 
right  time  ";  "  is  not  as  unpunctual  as  he  used 
to  be, — he  comes  early,  and  sits  through  to  the 
end."  "  He  has  got  over  his  old  talkative 
habit,  too.  I  spoke  to  a  friend  of  his  about  it 
once;  and  I  think  Ingham  took  it  kindly," 
etc.,  etc. 

Polly  is  more  rash  than  I  am,  as 
the  reader  has  observed  in  the  outset  of  this 
memoir.  She  risked  Dennis  one  night  under 
the  eyes  of  her  own  sex.  Governor  Gorges  had 
always  been  very  kind  to  us,  and,  when  he  gave 
his  great  annual  party  to  the  town,  asked  us. 
I  confess  I  hated  to  go.  I  was  deep  in  the 
new  volume  of  Pfciffcr's  "  Mystics,"  which 
Haliburton  had  just  sent  me  from  Boston. 
"  But  how  rude,"  said  Polly,  "not  to  return  the 
Governor's  civility  and  Mrs.  Gorges's,  when  they 
will  be  sure  to  ask  why  you  are  away  !"  Still 
I  demurred,  and  at  last  she,  with  the  wit  of  Eve 
and  of  Semiramis  conjoined,  let  me  off  by  say- 
ing that,  if  I  would  go  in  with  her,  and  sustain 
the  initial  conversations  with  the  Governor  and 
the  ladies  staying  there,  she  would  risk  Dennis 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening.     And  that  was  just 


A/y  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.    223 


what  we  did.  She  took  Dennis  in  training  all 
that  afternoon,  instructed  him  in  fashionable 
conversation,  cautioned  him  against  the  temp- 
tations of  the  supper-table, — and  at  nine  in  the 
evening  he  drove  us  all  down  in  the  carryall. 
I  made  the  grand  stSir-entre'e  with  Polly  and  the 
pretty  Walton  girls,  who  were  staying  with  us. 
We  had  put  Dennis  into  a  great  rough  top- 
coat, without  his  glasses ;  and  the  girls  never 
dreamed,  in  the  darkness,  of  looking  at  him. 
He  sat  in  the  carriage,  at  the  door,  while  we 
entered.  I  did  the  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Gorges, 
was  introduced  to  her  niece,  Miss  Fernanda ;  I 
complimented  Judge  Jeffries  on  his  decision  in 
the  great  case  of  D'Aulnay  vs.  Laconia  Mining 
Company ;  I  stepped  into  the  dressing-room 
for  a  moment,  stepped  out  for  another,  walked 
home  after  a  nod  with  Dennis  and  tying  the 
horse  to  a  pump ;  and  while  I  walked  home, 
Mr.  Frederic  Ingham,  my  double,  stepped  in 
through  the  library  into  the  Gorges's  grand 
saloon. 

Oh  !  Polly  died  of  laughing  as  she  told  me  of 
it  at  midnight !  And  even  here,  where  I  have 
to  teach  my  hands  to  hew  the  beech  for  stakes 
to  fence  our  cave,  she  dies  of  laughing  as  she 
recalls  it, — and  says  that  single  occasion  was 


224  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 


worth  all  we  have  paid  for  it.  Gallant  Eve  that 
she  is  !  She  joined  Dennis  at  the  librar}'-door, 
and  in  an  instant  presented  him  to  Dr.  Ochter- 
lony,  from  Baltimore,  who  was  on  a  visit  in 
town,  and  was  talking  with  her  as  Dennis  came 
in.  "  Mr.  Ingham  would  like  to  hear  what  you 
were  telling  us  about  your  success  among  the 
German  population."  And  Dennis  bowed  and 
said,  in  spite  of  a  scowl  from  Polly,  "  I  'm  very 
glad  you  liked  it."  But  Dr.  Ochtcrlony  did 
not  observe,  and  plunged  into  the  tide  of  ex- 
planation ;  Dennis  listened  like  a  prime-mini- 
ster, and  bowing  like  a  mandarin,  which  is,  I 
suppose,  the  same  thing.  ...  So  was  it 
that  before  Dr.  Ochterlony  came  to  the  "  suc- 
cess," or  near  it,  Governor  Gorges  came  to 
Dennis,  and  asked  him  to  hand  Mrs.  JcfTries 
down  to  supper,  a  request  which  he  heard  with 
great  joy. 

Polly  was  skipping  round  the  room,  I  guess, 
gay  as  a  lark.  Auchmuty  came  to  her  "  in  pity 
for  poor  Ingham,"  who  was  so  bored  by  the 
stupid  pundit, — and  Auchmuty  could  not  un- 
derstand why  I  stood  it  so  long.  But  when 
Dennis  took  Mrs.  Jeffries  down,  Polly  could 
not  resist  standing  near  them.  He  was  a  little 
flustered,    till    the    sight    of    tlie    eatables   and 


AfV  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.     225 

drinkables  gave  him  the  same  Mercian  cour- 
age which  it  gave  Diggory.  A  little  excited 
then,  he  attempted  one  or  two  of  his  speeches 
to  the  judge's  lady.  But  little  he  knew  how 
hard  it  was  to  get  in  even  2.promptu  there  edge- 
wise. "  Very  well,  I  thank  you,"  said  he,  after 
the  eating  elements  were  adjusted  ;  "  and  you  ?  " 
And  then  did  not  he  have  to  hear  about  the 
mumps,  and  the  measles,  and  arnica,  and  bella- 
donna, and  chamomile-flower,  and  dodecatheon, 
till  she  changed  oysters  for  salad  ;  and  then 
about  the  old  practice  and  the  new,  and  what 
her  sister  said,  and  what  her  sister's  friend  said, 
and  what  the  physician  to  her  sister's  friend 
said,  and  then  what  was  said  by  the  brother  of 
the  sister  of  the  physician  of  the  friend  of  her 
sister,  exactly  as  if  it  had  been  in  Ollendorff  ? 
There  was  a  moment's  pause,  as  she  declined 
champagne.  "  I  am  very  glad  you  liked  it," 
said  Dennis  again,  which  he  never  should  have 
said  but  to  one  who  complimented  a  sermon. 
"  Oh  !  you  are  so  sharp,  Mr.  Ingham  !  No  !  I 
never  drink  any  wine  at  all, — except  sometimes 
in  summer  a  little  currant  shrub, — from  our 
own  currants,  you  know.  My  own  mother, — 
that  is,  I  call  her  my  own  mother,  because,  you 
know,  I  do  not  remember,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. ;  till 


226  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

they  came  to  the  candied  orange  at  the  end  of 
the  feast,  when  Dennis,  rather  confused,  thought 
he  must  say  something,  and  tried  No.  4, — "  I 
agree,  in  general,  with  my  friend  the  other  side 
of  the  room," — which  he  never  should  have  said 
but  at  a  public  meeting.  But  Mrs.  Jeffries,  who 
never  listens  expecting  to  understand,  caught 
him  up  instantly  with  "Well,  I  'm  sure  my  hus- 
band returns  the  compliment ;  he  always  agrees 
with  you, — though  we  do  worship  with  the 
Methodists ;  but  you  know,  Mr.  Ingham,"  etc., 
etc.,  etc.,  till  they  move  up-stairs  ;  and  as  Den- 
nis led  her  through  the  hall,  he  was  scarcely  un- 
derstood by  any  but  Polly,  as  he  said,  "  There 
has  been  so  much  said,  and,  on  the  whole,  so 
well  said,  that  I  will  not  occupy  the  time." 

His  great  resource  the  rest  of  the  evening  was 
standing  in  tiic  library,  carrying  on  animated 
conversations  with  one  and  another  in  much  the 
same  way.  Polly  had  initiated  him  in  the  mys- 
teries of  a  discovery  of  mine,  that  it  is  not 
necessary  to  finish  your  sentences  in  a  crowd, 
but  by  a  sort  of  mumble,  omitting  sibilants  and 
details.  This,  indeed,  if  your  words  fail  you, 
answers  even  in  public  extempore  speech,  but 
better  where  other  talking  is  going  on.  Thus: 
"We  missed  you  at  the  Natural  History  So- 


MY  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.    22/ 

ciety,  Ingham."  Ingham  repHes,  "  I  am  very 
ghgloglum,  that  is,  that  you  were  mmmmm." 
By  gradually  dropping  the  voice,  the  interlocu- 
tor is  compelled  to  supply  the  answer.  "  Mrs. 
Ingham,  I  hope  your  friend  Augusta  is  better." 
Augusta  has  not  been  ill.  Polly  cannot  think 
of  explaining,  however,  and  answers,  "  Thank 
you,  ma'am  ;  she  is  very  rearason  wewahwewoh," 
in  lower  and  lower  tones.  And  Mrs.  Throckmor- 
ton, who  forgot  the  subject  of  which  she  spoke 
as  soon  as  she  asked  the  question,  is  quite  satis- 
fied. Dennis  could  see  into  the  card-room,  and 
came  to  Polly  to  ask  if  he  might  not  go  and 
play  all-fours.  But  of  course,  she  sternly  re- 
fused. At  midnight  they  came  home  delighted, 
— Polly,  as  I  said,  wild  to  tell  me  the  story  of 
the  victory  ;  only  both  the  pretty  Walton  girls 
said,  "  Cousin  Frederic,  you  did  not  come  near 
me  all  the  evening."     .     .     . 

But  I  see  I  loiter  on  my  story,  which  is  rush- 
ing to  the  plunge.  Let  me  stop  an  instant 
more,  however,  to  recall,  were  it  only  to  myself, 
that  charming  year  while  all  was  yet  well.  After 
the  double  had  become  a  matter  of  course,  for 
nearly  twelve  months  before  he  undid  me,  what 
a  year  it  was  !  Full  of  active  life,  full  of  happy 
love,  of  the  hardest  work,  of  the  sweetest  sleep, 


228  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 


and  the  fulfilment  of  so  many  of  the  fresh  as- 
pirations and  dreams  of  boyhood  !  Dennis  went 
to  every  school-committee  meeting,  and  sat 
through  all  those  late  wranglings  which  used  to 
keep  me  up  till  midnight  and  awake  till  morn- 
ing-. He  attended  all  the  lectures  to  which 
foreign  exiles  sent  me  tickets  begging  me  to 
come  for  the  love  of  Heaven  ;uul  of  Bohemia. 
He  accepted  and  used  all  the  tickets  for  charity 
concerts  which  were  sent  to  me.  He  appeared 
everywhere  where  it  was  specially  desirable  that 
"  our  denomination,"  or  "  our  party,"  or  "  our 
class,"  or  "  our  family,"  or  "  our  street,"  or 
"  our  town,"  or  "  our  country,"  or  "  our  State," 
should  be  fully  represented.     .     .     . 

Freed  from  these  necessities,  that  happy 
year  I  began  to  know  my  wife  by  sight.  We 
saw  each  other  sometimes.  In  those  long 
mornings,  when  Dennis  was  in  the  study  ex- 
plaining to  map-peddlers  that  I  had  eleven  maps 
of  Jerusalem  already,  and  to  school-book  agents 
that  I  would  see  them  hanged  before  I  would 
be  bribed  to  introduce  their  text-books  into  the 
schools, — she  and  I  were  at  work  together,  as 
in  those  old  dreamy  days, — and  in  these  of  our 
log  cabin  again.  But  all  this  could  not  last, — 
and  at  Icn^^h  poor  Dennis,  my  double,  over- 
tasked in  turn,  undid  me. 


MV  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.     229 

It  was  thus  it  happened.  There  is  an  excel- 
ent  fellow, — once  a  minister, — I  will  call  him 
Isaacs, — who  deserves  well  of  the  world  till 
he  dies,  and  after,  because  he  once,  in  a  real 
exigency,  did  the  right  thing,  in  the  right  way, 
at  the  right  time,  as  no  other  man  could  do  it. 
In  the  world's  great  football  match,  the  ball  by 
chance  found  him  loitering  on  the  outside  of 
the  field ;  he  closed  with  it,  "  camped "  it, 
charged  it  home,— yes,  right  through  the  other 
side, — not  disturbed,  not  frightened  by  his  own 
success, — and  breathless  found  himself  a  great 
man,  as  the  Great  Delta  rang  applause.  But  he 
did  not  find  himself  a  rich  man  ;  and  the  foot- 
ball has  never  come  in  his  way  again.  From 
that  moment  to  this  moment  he  has  been  of 
no  use,  that  one  can  see  at  all.  Still,  for  that 
great  act  we  speak  of  Isaacs  gratefully  and 
remember  him  kindly  ;  and  he  forges  on,  hoping 
to  meet  the  football  somewhere  again.  In  that 
vague  hope,  he  had  arranged  a  "  movement " 
for  a  general  organization  of  the  human  family 
into  Debating  Clubs,  County  Societies,  State 
Unions,  etc.,  etc.,  with  a  view  of  inducing  all 
children  to  take  hold  of  the  handles  of  their 
knives  and  forks,  instead  of  the  metal.  Children 
have  bad  habits  in  that  way.     The  movement, 


230  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 


of  course,  was  absurd  ;  but  we  all  did  our  best 
to  forward,  not  it,  but  him.  It  came  time  for 
the  annual  county-meeting  on  this  subject 
to  be  held  at  Naguadavick.  Isaacs  came 
round,  good  fellow!  to  arrange  for  it,— got 
the  town-hall,  got  the  Governor  to  preside 
(the  saint !— he  ought  to  have  triplet  doubles 
provided  him  by  law),  and  then  came  to  get  me 
to  speak.  "  No,"  I  said,  "  I  would  not  speak,  if 
ten  Governors  presided.  I  do  not  believe  in 
the  enterprise.  If  I  spoke,  it  should  be  to  say 
children  should  take  hold  of  the  prongs  of  the 
forks  and  the  blades  of  the  knives.  I  would 
subscribe  ten  dollars,  but  I  would  not  speak  a 
mill."  So  poor  Isaacs  went  his  way  sadly,  to 
coax  Auchmuty  to  speak,  and  Dclafield.  I 
went  out.  Not  long  after  he  came  back,  and 
told  Polly  that  they  had  promised  to  speak,  the 
Governor  would  speak,  and  he  himself  would 
close  with  the  quarterly  report,  and  some  inter- 
esting anecdotes  regarding  Miss  Biffin's  way  of 
handling  her  knife,  and  Mr.  Nellis's  way  of 
footing  his  fork.  "  Now  if  Mr.  Ingham  will  only 
come  and  sit  on  the  platform,  he  need  not  say 
one  word  ;  but  it  will  show  well  in  the  paper, — 
it  will  show  that  the  Sandemanians  take  as  much 
interest  in  the  movement  as  the  Armenians  or 


MV  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.    23 1 

the  Mesopotamians,  and  will  be  a  great  favor  to 
me."  Polly,  good  soul !  was  tempted,  and 
she  promised.  She  knew  Mrs.  Isaacs  was  starv- 
ing, and  the  babies, — she  knew  Dennis  was  at 
home, — and  she  promised  !  Night  came,  and 
I  returned.  I  heard  her  story.  I  was  sorry. 
I  doubted.  But  Polly  had  promised  to  beg  me, 
and  I  dared  all !  I  told  Dennis  to  hold  his 
peace,  under  all  circumstances,  and  sent  him 
down. 

It  was  not  half  an  hour  more  before  he  re- 
turned, wild  with  excitement, — in  a  perfect  Irish 
fury, — which  it  was  long  before  I  understood. 
But  I  knew  at  once  that  he  had  undone  me ! 

What  happened  was  this.  The  audience  got 
together,  attracted  by  Governor  Gorges's  name. 
There  were  a  thousand  people.  Poor  Gorges 
was  late  from  Augusta.  They  became  impa- 
tient. He  came  in  direct  from  the  train  at  last, 
really  ignorant  of  the  object  of  the  meeting. 
He  opened  it  in  the  fewest  possible  words,  and 
said  other  gentlemen  were  present  who  would 
entertain  them  better  than  he.  The  audience 
were  disappointed,  but  waited.  The  Governor, 
prompted  by  Isaacs,  said,  "  The  Honorable 
Mr.  Delafield  will  address  you."  Delafield  had 
forgotten  the  knives  and  forks,  and  was  playing 


212  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 

the  Ruy  Lopez  opening  at  tlie  chess-club. 
"  The  Rev.  Mr.  Auchmuty  will  address  you." 
Auchmuty  had  promised  to  speak  late,  and  was 
at  the  school-committee.  "  I  see  Dr.  Stearns 
in  the  hall ;  perhaps  he  will  say  a  word."  Dr. 
Stearns  said  he  had  come  to  listen  and  not  to 
speak.  The  Governor  and  Isaacs  whispered. 
The  Governor  looked  at  Dennis,  who  was  re- 
splendent on  the  platform  ;  but  Isaacs,  to  give 
him  his  due,  shook  his  head.  But  the  look  was 
enough.  A  miserable  lad,  ill-bred,  who  had 
once  been  in  Boston,  thought  it  would  sound 
well  to  call  for  me,  and  peeped  out,  "  Ingham  !  " 
A  few  more  wretches  cried,  "  Ingham  !  Ing- 
ham ! "  Still  Isaacs  was  firm:  but  the  Gov- 
ernor, anxious,  indeed,  to  prevent  a  row,  knew 
I  would  say  something,  and  said,  "  Our  friend, 
Mr.  Ingham,  is  always  prepared  ;  and,  though 
we  had  not  relied  upon  him,  he  will  say  a  word 
perhaps."  Applause  followed,  which  turned 
Dennis's  head.  He  rose,  fluttered,  and  tried 
No.  3  :  "  There  has  been  so  much  said,  and,  on 
the  whole,  so  well  said,  that  I  will  not  longer 
occupy  the  time  !  "  and  sat  down,  looking  for 
his  hat ;  for  things  seemed  squally.  But  the 
people  cried,  "  Go  on  !  go  on  !  "  and  some  ap- 
plauded.    Dennis,  still  confused,  but  flattered 


MV  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.     233 

by  the  applause,  to  which  neither  he  nor  I  are 
used,  rose  again,  and  this  time  tried  No.  2  :  "  I 
am  very  glad  you  liked  it !  "  in  a  sonorous,  clear 
delivery.  My  best  friends  stared.  All  the 
people  who  did  not  know  me  personally  yelled 
with  delight  at  the  aspect  of  the  evening ;  the 
Governor  was  beside  himself,  and  poor  Isaacs 
thought  he  was  undone !  Alas,  it  was  I !  A 
boy  in  the  gallery  cried  in  a  loud  tone,  "  It  *s 
all  an  infernal  humbug,"  just  as  Dennis,  waving 
his  hand,  commanded  silence,  and  tried  No.  4: 
"  I  agree,  in  general,  with  my  friend  the  other 
side  of  the  room."  The  poor  Governor  doubted 
his  senses  and  crossed  to  stop  him, — not  in 
time,  however.  The  same  gallery  boy  shouted, 
"  How  's  your  mother?  "  and  Dennis,  now  com- 
pletely lost,  tried,  as  his  last  shot.  No.  i,  vainly : 
"  Very  well,  thank  you  ;  and  you  ?  " 

I  think  I  must  have  been  undone  already. 
But  Dennis,  like  another  Lockhard,  chose  "  to 
make  sicker."  The  audience  rose  in  a  whirl  of 
amazement,  rage,  and  sorrow.  Some  other  im- 
pertinence, aimed  at  Dennis,  broke  all  restraint, 
and,  in  pure  Irish,  he  delivered  himself  of  an 
address  to  the  gallery,  inviting  any  person  who 
wished  to  fight  to  come  down  and  do  so, — 
stating  that  they  were  all  dogs  and  cowards 


234  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE. 


and  the  sons  of  dogs  and  cowards, — that  he 
would  take  any  five  of  them  single-handed. 
"  Shure,  I  have  said  all  his  Riverence  and  the 
Misthrcss  bade  me  say,"  cried  he  in  defiance ; 
and,  seizing  the  Governor's  cane  from  his  hand, 
brandished  it,  quarter-staff  fashion,  above  his 
head.  He  was,  indeed,  got  from  the  hall  only 
with  the  greatest  difificulty  by  the  Governor, 
the  City  Marshal,  who  had  been  called  in,  and 
the  Superintendent  of  my  Sunday-School, 

The  universal  impression,  of  course,  was  that 
the  Rev,  Frederic  Ingham  had  lost  all  command 
of  himself  in  some  of  those  haunts  of  intoxica- 
tion which  for  fifteen  years  I  had  been  laboring 
to  destroy.  Till  this  moment,  indeed,  that  is 
the  impression  in  Naguadavick.  This  number 
of  the  Atlantic  will  relieve  from  it  a  hundred 
friends  of  mine  who  have  been  sadly  wounded 
by  that  notion  now  for  years  ;  but  I  shall  not 
be  likely  ever  to  show  my  head  there  again. 

No.     My  double  has  undone  me. 

We  left  town  at  seven  the  next  morning.  I 
came  to  No.  9,  in  the  Third  Range,  and  set- 
tled on  the  Minister's  Lot.  In  the  new  towns 
in  Maine,  the  first  settled  minister  has  a  gift  of 
a  hundred  acres  of  land.  I  am  the  first  settled 
minister  in  No.  9.     My  wife  and  little  Paulina 


My  DOUBLE,  AND  HOW  HE    UNDID  ME.    235 

are  my  parish.  We  raise  corn  enough  to  live 
on  in  summer.  We  kill  bear's  meat  enough  to 
carbonize  it  in  winter.  I  work  on  steadily  on 
my  "  Traces  of  Sandemanianism  in  the  Sixth 
and  Seventh  Centuries,  which  I  hope  to  per- 
suade Phillips,  Sampson,  &  Co.  to  publish  next 
year.  We  are  very  happy,  but  the  world  thinks 
we  are  undone. — 7/",  yes,  ajid perhaps. 


RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

(born,  1822.) 


THE   VARIOUS   LANGUAGES   OF   BILLY  MOON. 
To  surrender  ere  th'  assault. — Hudibras. 
CHAPTER  I. 

NOT  all,  and  not  a  majority,  of  personal 
combats  in  the  far  South  forty  years 
ago,  at  court  grounds  and  muster  fields,  sprang 
from  personal  hostilities,  previous  or  sudden. 
They  were  resorted  to  often  as  a  trial  of  su- 
perior strength,  agility,  or  endurance.  In  such 
encounters,  one  who  would  seek  for  a  pistol,  a 
knife,  or  even  a  walking-stick,  was  considered 
unmanly.  Not  thus,  however,  at  least  com- 
monly, he  who,  when  overcome  and  prostrate, 
cried  "  Enough."  Such  conduct  was  under- 
stood merely  as  an  admission,  technically 
termed  "  word,"  that  the  defeated  yielded  for 
the  present  only,  and  with  reserve  of  right  and 
intention  to  renew  the  combat  in  other  circum- 
stances which   might    occur,  whether   on  that 

236 


LANGUAGES  OF  BILLY  MOON.  237 

same  or  some  subsequent  day.  The  victor  was 
expected  to  suspend  his  blows  at  this  admis- 
sion. Sometimes,  when  the  bottom  man  re- 
fused to  yield,  and  seemed  to  prefer  being 
beaten  into  a  jelly,  bystanders,  somewhat  be- 
fore such  result,  would  drag  off  the  top  man. 
Then  both  combatants,  though  with  blackened 
eyes  and  bruised  faces,  panting  and  hobbling, 
would  repair  to  the  grocery,  take  a  social  grog, 
and,  with  mutual  compliments,  have  a  cordial 
understanding  to  repeat  the  fight  at  some  con- 
venient time  after. 

This  preface  was  due  to  Mr.  Oglethorpe  Josh 
Green,  whose  conduct  upon  a  certain  occasion 
might  otherwise  be  somewhat  misunderstood. 
One  other  item — as  a  postscript,  as  it  were, 
to  the  above — I  should  mention.  In  those 
times,  many  country  people  of  the  humbler  and 
less  cultivated  sort,  when  mention  was  made  of 
a  person  afflicted  with  a  native  incurable  in- 
firmity, bodily  or  mental,  usually  spoke  of  him 
or  her  as  of  the  neuter  gender,  employing  the 
pronoun  it. 

Mr.  (Oglethorpe)  Josh  Green,  so  styled  to 
distinguish  him  from  his  cousin  of  that  name  in 
Elbert,  had  whipped  out  every  thing  in  his  sec- 
tion, and  in  search  of  other  conquests  he  once 


238         RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

came  some  miles  southward.  It  was  muster- 
day  for  the  Dukesborough  battalion.  A  few 
from  the  upper  borders  of  the  county  had  heard 
of  his  exploits,  and  one  or  two  had  seen  him 
theretofore.  A  man  like  him,  however,  needed 
not  to  have  friends,  or  even  acquaintances,  as, 
when  a  fight  was  to  be  made  up,  an  entire 
stranger  could  easily  obtain  backers  who  would 
see  to  the  maintenance  of  fair  play. 

When  the  muster  was  over,  and  O.  J.  G.  (as 
he  sometimes  called  himself,  and  was  called  by 
others,  for  short)  had  looked  calmly  upon 
several  fights,  he  seemed  to  be  disgusted. 

"  You  people  down  here  don't  'pear  to  know 
how  to  fight,"  said  he.  "  It  'pears  like  you 
want  to  have  somebody  that  do  know  how  for 
to  come  down  here  and  larn  you." 

It  was  a  voice  loud,  harsh,  powerful.  People 
looked  at  him.  Indeed,  he  had  already  at- 
tracted much  attention.  About  thirty  or  thirty- 
two  years  of  age,  five  feet  eleven,  weighing  one 
hundred  and  sixty,  or  maybe  more,  dark- 
skinned,  his  black  hair  cut  short,  without  an 
ounce  of  surplus  flesh,  from  his  head  to  his  feet 
he  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  wrought  out  of 
iron.  As  he  walked  up  and  down,  composedly 
uttering  challenges,  there  did  not  seem  to  be  a 


LANGUAGES  OF  BILLY  MOON.  239 

likelihood  that  he  could  find  one  to  encounter 
him. 

Bob  Hatchett  did  say  that  but  for  his  fatigue 
(having  just  now  had  a  turn  with  Bill  Giles,  and 
got  Bill's  word)  he  would  give  him  a  trial,  and 
take  a  few — jes'  a  few — of  his  lessons. 

The  warrior  had  money,  and  he  exhibited  it 
as  a  temptation.  Holding  forth  his  buckskin 
purse,  he  said,  after  beginning  with  a  dollar, 
and  gradually  ascending  : 

"  Gentlemen,  in  this  here  money-puss  is  four 
dollars,  lackin*  sevenpence.  Two  dollars  and  a 
half  o'  that  money  it  would  be  my  desires  to 
put  mto  the  money-puss  of  the  man  that  can 
git  my  word  in  a  fight  here  to-day.  The  dollar 
one  and  nine  that  would  be  left  would  be 
enough  to  take  me  back  home,  and  which, 
in  sich  a  case,  arfter  sich  fightin'  as  I  seen 
here,  I  should  n't  desires  to  leave  it  no  more, 
leastways  to  come  this  way." 

Such  as  that  looked  like  a  shame.  Finally 
Jack  Hall,  who  lived  on  Shoulder-bone,  said  he 
could  n't  stand  it.  Jack  himself  was  a  man  of 
much  power,  though  he  might  not  have  en- 
countered O.  J.  G.  without  apprehension. 

"  Stranger,"  said  Jack,  "  you  'pear  like  you — 
you  jes'  a-spilin'  for  a  fight." 


240         RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

"  That  's  ezactly  wliat  I  am,  sir,"  answered 
the  stranger.  "  I  'm  a-spihn'  bad.  I  hain't  fit 
in  so  long  that  I  'm  gittin'  badly  spiled.  You 
hit  what  's  jcs'  the  matter  with  me,  the  same  as 
ef  you  was  a  doctor." 

" Jes'  so ;  and  you  would  wish  to  lay  down  them 
two  dollars  and  a  half,  sure  enough,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Here  they  are,  sir,  ready  for  you  to  git ; 
and  when  sich  a  lookin'  man  as  you  do  git  'em, 
my  calkilation  will  be  to  move  clean  away — to 
some  disolate  island." 

"  Jes'  so."  Jack  looked  at  him  and  reflected. 
"  I  ain't  ezactly  in  fix  to-day  myself ;  but  " — 
he  paused,  took  out  his  purse,  and  counted  his 
money — "  I  hain't  but  a  dollar,  half,  and  seven- 
pence.  Ef  the  boys  will  help  me  make  up  the 
rest,  I  '11  fetch  a  man  here  that  '11 — that  '11  go  to 
school  to  you  for  a  while.  I  won't  be  gone 
more  'n  ten  or  fifteen  minutes." 

Certainly  the  balance  can  be  made  up  ;  there 
it  is  already.  Good  gracious!  the  idea  of  a 
whole  battalion,  as  it  were,  being  run  off  its  own 
battle-field  by  one  man,  and  he  a  stranger  ! 

Jack  went  to  look  for  his  man.  Oglethorpe 
Josh  the  while  stroked  his  head,  screwed  his 
jaws,  felt  his  muscles,  and  seemed  to  smell  the 
battle  anear. 


LANGUAGES  OF  BILLY  MOON.  24 1 

CHAPTER    II. 

Inside  of  the  time  demanded,  Jack  was  seen 
coming  up  the  street.  SHghtly  ahead  of  him, 
looking  back  eagerly  at  Jack's  earnest  gesticula- 
tions, walked  a  youth. 

"Why,  ef  it  ain't  Billy  Moon!"  said  Bob 
Hatchett  and  others.  "Why,  Jack  Hall! 
Billy's  too  young  to  cope  with  that  man." 

"  Jes'  so,  boys  :  never  mind." 

They  came  up,  and  Billy  looked  inquiringly 
at  Jack  and  the  rest.  He  was  full  six  feet  high, 
but  would  have  weighed  not  more  than  one 
hundred  and  forty  pounds.  He  was  straight  as 
an  arrow — straighter,  in  fact  ;  for  his  back  was 
slightly  swayed.  Lithe,  sinuous,  tense  without 
constraint,  his  long  arms  seemed  well  capa- 
ble of  striking  and  of  grappling.  His  broad- 
brimmed  hat  sat  jauntily  on  a  side  of  his  head. 
His  light  hair  hung  in  curls  even  below  his 
neck,  and  his  blue  eyes  fairly  danced  with  fiery 
glee.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  over  one-and- 
twenty  years  old. 

"  Is  that  your  man  ?  "  asked  Oglethorpe, 
curiously  contemplating  him. 

"  That  's  him,"  answered  Jack. 

"  Well,  my  young  friend,  you  don't  want 
your  mammy  to  know  you  when  you  go  home 


242         RICHARD  iMALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

to-night,  ch  ?  Your  desires  is  to  git  to  the  old 
lady  onbcknownst  like  this  evenin',  eh  !  " 

Billy  said  not  a  word,  but  after  signs  from 
Jack  smiled,  and  nodded  his  head  gayly. 

"  How  do  you  fight  ?  " 

Billy,  after  looking  at  Jack  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, made  several  mock  strokes  with  his  fists, 
imaginary  grapplings  with  his  arms,  kickings 
with  his  legs,  and  then  seized  his  own  throat 
with  one  hand,  and  placed  the  thumb  of  the 
other  into  the  corner  of  one  of  his  eyes. 

Oglethorpe  Josh  looked  at  these  actions 
piercingly.  Turning  angrily  upon  Jack,  he 
said  :  "  Who  's  this  you  fotch  here  ?  What  is 
he?" 

"  It  's  Billy  Moon,"  answered  a  by-stander — 
one  of  those  chosen  as  stake-holder.  "  He  'sas 
respectable  a  man,  sir,  as  any  in  this  county, 
or  anywheres  else,  exceptin'  that  he  's  deef  and 
dumb." 

"  Dccf  and  dumb  !  "  said  Oglethorpe.  "  Ain't 
he  a  egiot  ?  " 

"  Egiot  !  No,  sir  :  no  egiot  ;  got  much  sense 
as  you,  or  anybody  else  on  this  ground,  and  as 
mucii  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  Jack  Hail. 

Oglethorpe  scanned  Billy  over  and  over  care- 


LANGUAGES  OF  BILLY  MOON.  243 

fully.  Scratching  his  head,  he  scanned  him 
again.  He  looked  down  and  reflected.  After 
reflection  he  raised  his  head,  but  did  not  seem 
as  if,  even  when  he  began  to  talk,  he  had 
reached  a  definite  conclusion. 

"  Gentlemen — I  shall — that  is,  I  shall — not — 
yes — no — in  case,  yes — that  is — gentlemen — I 
— I  shall — ah — I  shall  NOT  fight  it." 

Oh,  now !  ah,  now !  yes,  now !  That  did 
look  like  a  fellow  comin'  all  the  way  down  from 
Oglethorpe  and  openin'  a  school  for  teachin' 
people  how  to  fight ! 

Oglethorpe  reflected  again,  looked  at  Billy's 
smiling  face,  and  reflected  yet  again.  Then  he 
resolved  for  good  and  all.  He  said,  firmly: 
"  No,  sirs.  I  shall  not  fight  it,  gentlemen  ;  and, 
gentlemen,  I  '11  give  you  my  reasons.  You  see, 
if  me  and  it  fights,  one  or  t'  other  of  us  is 
got  to  git  whipped,  in  the  course  o'  time,  more 
or  less.  Now,  ef  I  whip  it,  it  can't  holler,  and 
I  sha'n't  know  it  air  whipped.  That  '11  be  on- 
fair  for  it.  Then,  agin,  gentlemen,  and  which 
I  should  n't  by  no  means  look  for — but  no- 
body, exceptin'  the  good  Lord,  know  the  fu- 
ter,  'specially  in  things  like  it — then  agin,  I  say, 
ef  it  should  whip  me,  and  /  holler,  it — it — it 
could  n't  hear  me  ;  and  that,  you  see,  gentle- 


244         RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

men,  would  be  onfair  for  mc.  Gentlemen,  no  ; 
gentlemen,  I  shall  not  fight  it." 

After  the  explosion  ensuing  upon  this  de- 
termined refusal,  and  some  discussion  as  to  its 
import  and  most  proper  consequences,  it  was 
decided  at  last,  with  entire  concurrence  on  the 
part  of  Oglethorpe  Josh,  that  it  would  be  fair 
to  regard  the  money  advanced,  not  exactly  as 
won  by  Bill)',  nor  as  constituting  a  drawn  bet, 
but  that  Billy — for  Jack  said  it  should  be  Billy's 
interest,  and  not  his  own — should  have  half  the 
deposit  of  Oglethorpe  Josh. 

When  Jack  had  communicated  this  decision 
to  Billy,  the  brightness  in  an  instant  fled  from 
his  face,  and  he  glanced  around  resentfully 
upon  all.  Then  he  looked  upon  the  ground  for 
a  moment  thoughtfully,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
ear.  Then  he  raised  his  head,  his  face  putting 
on  a  conditional  smile,  looked  at  Oglethorpe, 
hugged  himself,  twisted  his  legs  about,  made  a 
long  mark  upon  the  ground,  struck  his  left 
forefinger  with  his  right,  and  uttering  several 
guttural  sounds  from  his  throat,  looked  at  Jack 
as  if  he  were  not  yet  entirely  through  with  giv- 
ing expression  to  his  ideas. 

Oglethorpe  watched  Billy's  actions  with 
earnest  and  compassionate  interest.     Said  he : 


LANGUAGES  OF  BILLY  MOON.  245 

"  What  do  it  want  ?  Ain't  it  satisfied  ?  Ef  it 
ain't,  let  it  take  all  the  money.  Sooner  than 
worry  the  poor  thing,  I  'd  let  it  have  all  I  got. 
I  'd— " 

"  Jes'  so,  jes'  so,  I  know,"  said  Jack.  "  But 
that  ain't  what  Billy  's  arfter." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  arfter  ?  I  can't  see  from 
them  doin's  what  it  is  arfter." 

"  Jes'  so  ;  but  me  and  him  's  neighbors,  and 
always  has  been,  and  we  understands  one  an- 
other same  as  ef  Billy  could  talk.  Billy  's 
arfter  a  wrastle  with  you,  stranger." 

"  A  wrastle  with  me  !  " 

**  Jes'  so  ;  and  he  say  ef  you  '11  give  him  a 
wrastle,  jes'  a  friendly  wrastle,  you  mind,  you 
may  have  a  dollar  more  o'  your  money,  no 
matter  which  gits  flung  ;  and  ef  y(5u  don't  he  '11 
have  some  more  words  to  say  to  you." 

"Words!"  ejaculated  Oglethorpe.  "You 
call  them  things  words  !  Words  !  more  words  ! 
Them  things  was  its  langwidges,  was  they  ?  " 
Then  Mr.  Oglethorpe  Josh  Green  grinned  some- 
what, and  the  iron  in  his  frame  seemed  to  begin 
to  soften. 

"  Jes'  so,"  answered  Jack  ;  "  and  Billy  's  got 
more  langwidges  than  you  ever  heerd  of." 

"  More  words,  and  in  warious  langwidges," 


246         RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

said  O.  J.  G.,  thoughtfully.  "  And  they  means 
it  want  a  wrastle,  and  ef  it  can't  git  it,  it  '11 
have  more  words  in  more  warious  langwidges." 

Then  Mr.  O.  J.  G.  regarded  Billy  with  the 
most  intense  scrutiny.  It  was  evident  that  he 
was  again  doubtful,  but  seemingly  to  avoid  the 
necessity  of  further  remarks  in  other  unknown 
tongues,  he  concluded  to  acquiesce  in  Billy's 
wishes. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  said.  "  But,  gentle- 
men, I  'm  agin  this  thing,  and  I  wants  it  ondcr- 
stood  that  cf  it  git  hurt,  I  ain't  responchible," 

Everybody  said  that  was  right. 

Then  they  stripped  themselves. 

CHAPTER   III. 

"  What  hold  do  it  want  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Ogle- 
thorpe Josh  Green. 

Billy,  when  the  question  was  made  known  to 
him  by  Jack,  raised  and  let  fall  first  his  right 
arm,  then  his  left,  shook  his  head  contemptu- 
ously, then  unwrapped  from  his  finger  an  in- 
visible rag,  and  threw  it  upon  the  ground. 

"  What  kind  o'  words  was  them  ?  "  asked  O. 
J.G. 

"  Them  words,"  answered  Jack,  "  them  's 
that   Billy  say  he  don't  keer,  not  even  to  the 


LANGUAGES  OF  BILLY  MOON.  247 


wrappin'  of  his  fingers,  which  hold  you  give 
him,  right  or  left." 

"  Yes,  I  see  it  were  somethin'  about — about 
fingers." 

Mr.  O.  slowly  scraped  his  upper  lip  with  his 
lower  teeth, 

"  And  ef  I  don't  wrastle  with  it,  you  say- 
it  '11 — have  yit  more — words,  and  prob'ly  in  yit 
more  warious  langwidges  ?  " 

"  Jes'  so." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  resignedly ; 
"  'member,  gentlemen,  I  'm  agin  it,  and  both 
tharfore  and  wharfore  I  ain't  to  be  respon- 
chible." 

Certainly  not,  unanimously. 

They  were  hitched.  Jack  Hall  was  to  give 
the  word,  with  a  simultaneous  nod  to  Billy. 
Billy's  eye  was  on  Jack,  bright  as  a  rattlesnake's 
when  on  the  point  of  striking. 

"  Go,"  said  Jack. 

Billy,  instantaneously  detecting,  from  the 
feel  of  his  adversary,  which  was  his  stronger 
side,  quick  as  lightning  swayed  his  back  yet 
more,  slid  himself  an  inch  or  two  aside,  brought 
his  right  knee-joint  against  Oglethorpe's  left, 
and,  simultaneously  with  pressure  there,  and  a 
resistless  impulsion  with  his  left  arm,  adroitly 


248         RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

tripped,  with  his  left,  Oglethorpe's  right  foot. 
The  part  of  Oglethorpe  that  was  likely  to 
strike  the  ground  first  was  his  head.  But  Billy, 
as  he  was  descending,  softened  the  fall  by  hop- 
ping, with  the  agility  of  a  greyhound,  astraddle 
of  his  bod)-,  which  barely  touched  the  earth. 
There,  holding  Oglethorpe  for  a  moment  in  his 
arms,  flinging  back  from  his  eyes  his  long  locks, 
he  smiled  in  his  face  as  a  person  does  some- 
times upon  a  child  whom  he  has  thrown  up 
into  the  air  playfully,  and  caught  safely  on  the 
return.  Then,  when  both  had  risen,  he  brushed 
him  carefully  with  his  hand  and  his  handker- 
chief. 

Omitting  tiic  numberless  sayings,  some  of 
them  interesting,  in  that  crowd,  now  numbering 
a  couple  of  hundreds  or  more,  I  confine  myself 
to  the  main  actors. 

"Well  \didnt  fight  it!"  said  Oglethorpe, 
contemplating  Billy  with  yet  enhanced  interest. 
"  Ef  it  could  ondcrstand  me,"  he  continued, 
hesitatingly,  "  my  desires  would  be  to  corn- 
gratilate  it,  as  it  's  the  first  thing  that  ever  laid 
my  back  on  the  ground." 

Then  he  extended  his  hand  partially,  which 
Billy,  when  made  aware  of  his  intention,  seized, 
and    cordially    shook.       Oglethorpe    the    while 


LANGUAGES  OF  BILLY  MOON.  249 

grinned,  felt  the  water  come  into  his  eyes, 
smote  his  knees  together,  and  when  Billy  had 
let  his  hand  go,  held  it  up,  letting  it  hang 
loosely,  regarded  it  for  a  moment  as  something 
entirely  foreign  to  himself,  gradually  pulled  its 
fingers  apart  with  his  other  hand,  and  seemed 
gratified  and  somewhat  surprised  that  such  a 
thing  could  be  done. 

Turning  his  eyes  to  him  again,  he  asked, 
heavily :  "  Can  it  drink  ?  Do  it  ever  take  a 
drink  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Not  as  a  habit,  but  in  a  social 
way." 

"  It  would  be  my  desires,  then,  to  give  it  a 
treat.     Tell  it  that  I  desires  to  treat  it." 

In  the  answer  that  Billy  made  to  Jack's  an- 
nouncement of  Oglethorpe's  intentions,  among 
other  signs  which  he  made,  was  a  pointing  con- 
temptuously toward  the  crowd,  and  then  vio- 
lently poking  himself  on  the  breast,  as  if  he 
would  commit  suicide,  for  want  of  a  bodkin, 
with  a  bare  forefinger,  gibbering  the  while  in 
his  throat,  not  loudly,  but  passionately. 

"  My  gawnamighty !  "  exclaimed  Oglethorpe, 
his  tongue  becoming  now  so  heavy  that  he 
could  not  utter  quite  articulately  himself. 
"  What  kind  o'  wordth  wath  them  ?  " 


2 so         RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 


"  Them  words,"  answered  Jack,  with  the  seri- 
ousness of  a  person  who  had  spent  his  years 
mainly  in  the  interpretation  of  foreign,  espe- 
cially dead  and  occult,  languages — "  them  words 
was  this  :  Billy  say  that  whiskey  is  a  thing  he 
seldom  teches." 

"  Thildom  tctheth,"  repeated  Oglethorpe, 
thoughtfully,  as  if  he  would  fain  learn  some- 
thing of  these  strange  tongues. 

"  But  that  yit  he  hain't  got  no  partickler 
predigice  agin  whiskey,  nor  takin'  of  a  drink 
hisself  sometimes  with  a  friend,  or  people  he 
likes,  providin'  that  they  won't  want  him  to 
carry  it  too  fur,  and " 

"  No  partickler  predithith  agin  whithkey," 
said  Oglethorpe,  recoUectingly,  his  mind  evi- 
dently delaying  upon  these  words,  and  not  fol- 
lowing Jack — at  least  not  keeping  up  with  him. 

"  But "  began  Jack. 

"  Oh,  but !  "  Oglethorpe's  lower  jaw  began 
to  hang  somewhat  heavily,  and  all  his  iron  was 
gradually  turning  to  lead. 

"  Jcs'  so,"  resumed  Jack.  "  Billy  say  that  he 
feel  like  it  would  be  a  disgrace  on  hisself,  and 
on  the  neighborhood  in  gencr'l,  ef  a  stranger 
was  to  come  here  among  us,  and  we  was  to  let 
him  do  the  treatin'.     He  say,  as  for  sich  onpo- 


LANGUAGES  OF  BILLY  MOON.  25  I 

liteness  as  that,  he  warn't  raised  to  it  hisself, 
and  as  he  's  now  a  man  growed  up,  he  ain't 
goin'  to  begin  on  it  at  this  time  o'  day ;  and 
furthersomore " 

"  On-per-lite-neth  !  fur-ther-tho-more  !  "  re- 
peated Oglethorpe,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Jes'  so  :  and  furthersomore,  Billy  say,  ef 
you  '11  jine  with  him,  and  at  his  expense,  he  '11 
spend  the  rest  o'  the  money  in  a  gener'l  treat." 

Oglethorpe  waited  a  moment,  not  sure  that 
Jack  was  quite  through  with  his  translations. 

"  Them — ah,  them  wath  ith  langwitheth, 
wath  they  ?  " 

"  They  was  ;  his  very  words." 

**  And  ef  I  don't  agree  to  'em,  I  th'pothe 
he  '11  be  arfter  uthin'  yit  more  wariouth  oneth  ?  " 

"  Jes  so. 

"  I  givth  it  up,  then." 

They  all  repaired  to  Fan's  grocery.  Billy 
laid  his  money  on  the  counter,  and  the  treat 
was  accepted  heartily  all  around. 

"  Gentlemen,"  then  said  Oglethorpe,  "  I  'm 
sorry  to  part  from  you  ;  but  my  business  calls 
me,  and  I  must  bid  you  farewell." 

Taking  one  more  earnest,  studious  look  at 
Billy,  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pocket.  Then 
saying  to  Jack  Hall,  "  Tell  it  farewell  for  me," 


252         RICHARD  MALCOLM  JOHNSTON. 

he  immediately  turned,  left  the  grocer}',  and 
shortly  afterward  the  town. 

From  this  time  Mr.  Oglethorpe  Josh  Green 
began  to  keep  himself  more  at  or  about  his 
home,  and  to  grow  more  quiet  and  meditative. 
Occasionally,  when  he  was  at  the  court-house, 
or  Wright's  store,  and  others  had  been  telling 
of  the  strange  things  they  had  seen  in  foreign 
parts,  after  listening  with  doubtful  interest  to 
their  narrations,  he  would  point  with  his  mere 
thumb  vaguely  and  distantly  toward  the  far 
South,  and  calling  to  mind  what  in  the  times 
when  he  was  a  traveller  he  had  seen,  say  about 
thus  : 

"  Gentlemen,  it  were  a  kind  of  a  egiot  ;  and 
it  were  grippy  as  a  wise,  and  it  were  supple  as  a 
black-snake,  and  it  were  strong  as  a  mule  and  a 
bull  both  putten  together.  And,  gentlemen," 
he  would  add,  "  cgiot  as  it  were,  it  were  smarter'n 
any  man  ever  /  see  ;  and  as  for  its  langwidges 
— well,  gentlemen,  they  wa'n't  no  ecnd  to  its 
warious  langwidges." — Harper  s  Magazine,  Au- 
gust, i88i. 


CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 

(born,  1824.) 


A   MUSICAL   DUEL. 

I  KNOW  a  story,"  suddenly  exclaimed 
Count  d'Egerlyn,  one  evening  as  we 
were  taking  supper  at  our  parlor  in  the  St. 
Nicholas,  in  New  York.  Now  if  the  count  had 
suddenly  sung,  "  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the 
wild  thyme  blows,"  he  would  not  have  excited 
more  astonishment.  For  though  the  count  was 
a  gentleman  of  wit,  a  finished  cosmopolite,  and 
a  thorough  good  fellow,  and  had  moreover  a 
beautiful  wife,  he  was  never  known  to  tell 
tales  of  any  description,  either  in  school  or  out 
of  it. 

At  the  word  upstarted  Wolf  Short  and  young 

C ,  the  latter  declaring  that   he  was,  like 

Time,  all  ears,  while  the  former,  listening  as  if 
dreaming, 

heard  him  half  in  awe  ; 

While  Cabana's  smoke  came  streaming 
Through  his  open  jaw. 

253 


254  CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 


In  a  calm,  bland  voice,  our  good  count  pro- 
ceeded to  narrate  a  curious  incident,  which  I 
long  afterward  reduced  to  writing.  As  I  re- 
member it,  the  story  would  have  been  far  better 
had  it  been  given  in  the  exact  words  in  which 
it  was  originally  told.  But,  alas  !  it  was  hardly 
concluded  ere  we  had  to  scramble  off  to  a  party, 
and  the  next  day  we  went  all  together  to  Bos- 
ton ;  and  it  probably  would  never  have  been 
written  out  at  all,  had  I  not  just  been  reminded 
of  it  by  hearing  "our  nigger"  Tom  whistling 
through  the  hall,  the  air  on  which  it  is  founded. 

"Vitace. 


T r — • r 

Mendelssohn  was  a  great  musician. 

Mendelssohn  signifies  "  The  son  of  an  al- 
mond." Had  he  been  a  twin,  they  would  liavc 
christened  him  PJiilip-iiia. 

But  as  he  was  a  Jew,  they  could  not  ckristcn 
him.  And  as  he  was  not  a  twin,  he  conse- 
quently remained  single. 

Which  did  not,  however,  prevent  him  from 
being  wedded  to  Divine  Lady  Music,  as  ama- 
teurs call  her. 


A   MUSICAL  DUEL.  255 

Mendelssohn  composed  "  Songs  without 
words."  Many  modern  poets  give  us  words 
without  songs. 

"They  should  n't  do  so." 

The  story  which  I  am  about  to  relate  is  that 
of  a  duel  which  was  fought  as  Mendelssohn's 
songs  were  sung — without  words.  The  insult, 
the  rejoinder,  the  rebutter,  the  sur-rebutter,  and 
the  challenge  were  all  whistled. 

But  as,  according  to  Fadladeen  in  Lalla 
Rookh,  it  is  impossible  even  for  an  angel  to 
carry  a  sigh  in  his  hand,  the  reader  will  not  find 
it  strange  that  such  an  imperfect  sinner  as  my- 
self should  find  it  difficult  to  whistle  on  paper 
or  in  print. 

I  will,  therefore,  take  the  liberty  of  represent- 
ing by  words  the  few  notes  which  were  whistled 
upon  this  melancholy  occasion.  The  which 
notes  are  given  at  the  beginning  of  this 
story. 

And  here  the  intelligent  reader  may  remark 
that  most  authors  put  their  notes  at  the  end  of 
their  works.     Mine,  however,  come  before. 

An  Englishman  was  once  seated  in  solitary 
silence  in  the  Caf6  de  France,  solemnly  sipping 
sherry  and  smoking  a  cigar.  His  reverie  was 
unbroken,  and  his  only  desire  on  earth  was  that 
it  should  continue  so. 


256  CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 


Suddenly  entered  (as  from  the  Grand  Opera) 
a  gay  Frenchman,  merrily  whistling  that  odd 
little  air  from  Robert  U  Diable,  so  well  known 
to  all  admirers  of  Meyerbeer  and  contemners  of 
worldly  wealth  or  sublunary  riches: 

Oh,  but  gold  is  a  chimera  ! 
Money  all  a  fleeting  dream  !  * 

Now  the  interruption  vexed  our  Englishman. 
At  any  time  he  would  have  wished  the 
Frenchman  in  Jerusalem.  At  present,  the 
whistling  so  much  disturbed  him,  that  he 
wished  him  in  a  far  less  holy  place.  Mind  !  I  do 
not  mean  New  York,  though  it  be,  like  Milton's 
scaly  sorceress,  close  by  the  "  Gate  of  Hell." 

Therefore,  in  a  firm  and  decided  tone  (which 
said,  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  spoken  it,  "  I  wish, 
sir,  you  would  hold  your  tongue  "),  he  whistled — 

Oh,  Init  gold  is  a  chimera  ! 
Money  all  a  fleeting  dream  ! 

But  the  Frenchman  was  in  high  feather,  and 
not  to  be  bluffed.  He  had  had  a  dinner  and  a 
gloria  o[  coffee  and  brandy,  and  some  eausucrde 

*  Folle  i  quel  che  Foro  aduna 
E  nol  sa  come  Jenifer, 
Non  prcnSgiavtmai  fortuna, 
Cfu  sta  lunga  dal piacer. 


A   MUSICAL  DUEL.  257 


and  a  glass  of  bruleau  (which,  like  crambavibuli, 
consists  of  burnt  brandy  or  rum,  with  sugar).  He 
had  had  a  cigarette,  or  a  four-cent  government 
cigar  (I  forget  which),  had  winked  at  a  pretty 
girl  in  the  opera,  and  finally  had  heard  the 
opera  and  Grisi.  In  fact,  he  had  experienced  a 
perfect  bender.  Now  a  bender  is  a  batter,  and 
a  batter  is  a  spree,  and  a  spree  is  a  jollification. 
And  the  tendency  of  a  jollification  is  to  exalt 
the  mind  and  elevate  the  feelings.  Therefore 
the  feelings  of  the  Frenchman  were  exalted,  and 
in  the  coolest,  indifferentest,  impudentest,  pro- 
vokingest  manner  in  the  world,  he  answered  in 
whistling — 

Oh,  but  gold  is  a  chimera  ! 
Money  all  a  fleeting  dream  ! 

Which,  being  interpreted,  signified,  "  I  care  not 
a  fig  for  the  world  in  general — or  you,  sir,  in 
particular !  Stuff  that  you  are  !  Out  upon  you  ! 
Parbleu  !     Bah  ! 

"  Do  you  think  that  because  you  are  silent, 
all  the  world  must  be  mum  ?  Par-r-r-r-r- 
bleu!  Am  I  to  sneeze  because  you  snuff? 
Par-r-r-r-bleu!  Ought  I  to  blush  because 
you  are  well  read  ?  Par- r- r- r- r- r- r-bleu  ! 
Tra-li-ra  !     Go  to  !  " 

All  these  words  were  distinctly  intelligible 


258  CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 

in  the  chimes,  intonations,  and  accentuations 
of  the  Frenchman's  whistle.  And  to  make  as- 
surance doubly  sure,  he  sat  himself  down  at 
the  same  tetc-h-tete  table  whereon  the  English- 
man leaned,  at  the  opposite  seat  ;  and  dis- 
placing, with  an  impudent  little  shove,  his 
cigar-case,  continued  to  whistle,  with  all  man- 
ner of  irritating  variations  and  aggravating 
canary-bird  trills,  his  little  air — 

Oh,  but  gold  is  a  chimera  ! 
Money  all  a  fleeting  dream  ! 

What  I  now  wish  you  to  believe  is  that  John 
Bull  was  in  no  wise  either  flattered  or  gratified 
by  these  little  marks  of  attention.  Drawing 
back  in  his  chair,  he  riveted  a  stare  of  silent 
fury  on  the  Frenchman,  which  might  have 
bluffed  a  buffalo,  and  then,  in  deliberate,  cast- 
iron  accents,  slowly  whistled,  as  he  rose  from 
the  table  and  beckoned  his  foe  to  follow,  the 
air  which  had  so  greatly  incensed  him — 

Oh,  but  gold  is  a  chimera  ! 
Money  all  a  fleeting  dream  ! 

Now  this  last  instrumcnto-vocal  effort  did 
not  express  much, — but  the  little  it  rt'/V/ express 
went,  like  the  widow's  oil  or  a  Paixhan  shot,  a 
great  way.     It  simply  signified — 


A   MUSICAL  DUEL.  259 


"  Coffee  and  pistols  for  two — without  the 
coffee !  " 

To  which  the  Frenchman,  with  a  bow  of  the 
intensest  poHteness,  repHed — toiijoiirs  en  sijfflant 
— always  in  whistling — 

Oh,  but  gold  is  a  chimera  ! 
Money  all  a  fleeting  dream  ! 

Which  was  not  much  more,  and  certainly  no 
less  than — 

"  Oh,  if  you  come  to  that,  two  can  play  at 
that  game.  Poor  devil !  what  a  loss  you  will 
be  to  the  worthy  and  estimable  society  of 
muffs  and  slow  coaches  !  What  will  that  ex- 
cellent individual,  Milady  Popkins,  remark, 
when  she  hears  that  I  have  settled  the  account 
of  her  son  without  a  surplus  ?  After  you,  sir, 
if  you  please  !  I  will  directly  have  the  pleasure 
of  following  and  killing  you." 

Out  of  the  cafe,  and  along  the  boulevards, 
strode  the  Englishman,  followed  by  his  new 
acquaintance,  both  "whistling  as  they  went" — 
certainly  not  "  from  want  of  thought."  Whether 
it  was  "  to  keep  their  courage  up,"  is  not  writ- 
ten in  history. 

They  soon  reached  a  hall,  where  the  English- 
man offered  the  only  weapons  in  his  possession, 


26o  CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 

excepting  "  maulies,"  or  fists, — and  these  were 
a  pair  of  rapiers. 

And  here  it  would  appear,  gracious  reader, 
(if  you  arc  gracious,)  that  either  I,  or  the 
Frenchman,  or  both  of  us,  made  a  great  mis- 
take, when  we  understood  the  Englishman,  by 
the  sounds  he  uttered  in  his  challenge,  to 
signify  the  whistle  of  pistol-bullets.  It  appears 
that  it  was  the  whiz  of  swords,  to  which  he  had 
reference.  But  the  Frenchman,  who  believed 
himself  good  at  all  things  in  general,  and  the 
ficiircttc  in  particular,  made  no  scruples,  but — 
drawing  his  sword  with  a  long  whistle — struck 
a  salute,  and  held  up  a  beautiful  guard,  accom- 
panying every  movement  with  a  note  from  the 
original  air  of — 

Oh,  but  gold  is  a  chimera  ! 
Money  all  a  fleeting  dream  ! 

And  now,  reader,  had  I  the  pen  of  the  blind 
old  man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle,  I  would  describe 
thee  a  duel  in  the  real  comme  il faut,  two-thirty 
style.  Every  note  of  the  air  was  accompanied 
by  a  thrust  or  a  parry.  When  the  Englishman 
made  a  thrust  of  low  carte  sccondc,  the  French- 
man guarded  with  a  semicircle  parade,  or  an 
octave  (I  forget  which).     When  the  Frenchman 


A    MUSICAL  DUEL.  26 1 


made  an  appel,  a  beat,  or  a  glissade,  the 
Englishman,  in  no  wise  put  out,  either  re- 
mained firm  or  put  in  a  time  thrust.  Both 
marking  time  with  the  endless  refrain — 

Oh,  but  gold  is  a  chimera  ! 
Money  all  a  fleeting  dream  ! 

At  last,  an  untimely  thrust  from  the  English- 
man's rapier  settled  the  business.  The  French- 
man fell — dropped  his  sword — and  whistled  in 
slower,  slower  measure  and  broken  accents,  for 
the  last  time,  his  little  melody. 

Reader,  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  have 
heard,  ere  now,  the  opera  of  Lucia  di  Lanimer- 
moor,  and  can  well  recall  the  dying  struggles 
and  perishing  notes  of  Edgardo — 

Se  di-vi-si  fummo  in  ter-ra, 
Ne  cong-iun-ga  ne  congiung-a  il  Nume  in  ciel ! 
Ne  con-giun-ga,  ah  !  oh  ! — Num'  in  ciel — 
I-o — ti-i — se-guo  ! — oh  ! — oh  ! 

And  so  it  was  with  our  poor  Frenchman,  who 
panted  forth,  game  to  the  last — 

"  Oh, — but  g-'g-'gold  is  a  chi-mera  ! 
M-'m-'mon-ey  but  a  fleece — " 

And  here — borne  on  the  wings  of  a  last  ex- 
piring whistle — his  soul  took  its  flight. 

Not  a  word  had  been  spoken  by  either  of  the 
combatants  ! — Meister  Karl's  Sketch-Book. 


262  CHARLES  GODFRE  V  LELAND. 

schnitzerl's   PIIILOSOPEDE. 
pardt  firsdt. 

Herr  Schnitzerl  make  a  philosopede, 

Von  of  de  pullyest  kind  ; 
It  vent  mitout  a  vheel  in  front, 

And  had  n't  none  pchind. 
Von  vhccl  vas  in  de  mittel,  dough, 

And  it  vent  as  sure  as  ecks, 
For  he  shtraddlcd  on  de  axle  dree 

Mit  de  vheel  petwccn  his  Iccks. 

Und  ven  he  vant  to  shtart  id  off 

He  paddlct  mit  his  veet, 
Und  soon  he  cot  to  go  so  vast 

Dat  avery  dings  he  peat. 
He  run  her  out  on  Broader  shtreed, 

He  shkeeted  like  dcr  vind, 
Hei  !  how  he  bassed  de  vancy  crabs, 

And  Icf  dcm  all  pchind  ! 

De  veilers  mit  de  trottin  nags 
Pooled  oop  to  see  him  bass ; 

De  Dcutschers  all  crstaunished  saidt : 
' '  Pot ztau scud  !      1 1  \is  ist  das  ?  ' ' 

Boot  vaster  shtill  dcr  Schnitzerl  flewed 
On — mit  a  gashtly  smile  ; 


SCHNITZERLS  PHILOSOPEDE.  263 

He  tid  n't  tooch  de  dirt,  py  shings  ! 
Not  vonce  in  half  a  mile. 


Oh,  vot  ish  all  dis  earthly  pliss  ? 

Oh,  vot  ish  man's  soocksess  ? 
Oh,  vot  ish  various  kinds  of  dings  ? 

Und  vot  ish  hobbiness  ? 
Ve  find  a  pank-node  in  de  shtreedt, 

Next  dings  der  pank  is  preak ; 
Ve  foils,  und  knocks  our  outsides  in, 

Ven  ve  a  ten  shtrike  make. 

So  vas  it  mit  der  Schnitzerlein 

On  his  philosopede. 
His  feet  both  shlipped  outsideward  shoost 

Vhen  at  his  extra  shpeed. 
He  felled  oopon  der  vheel  of  course ; 

De  vheel  like  blitzen  flew  : 
Und  Schnitzerl  he  was  schnitz  *  in  vact 

For  id  shlished  him  grod  f  in  two. 

Und  as  for  his  philosopede, 

Id  cot  so  shkared,  men  say. 
It  pounded  onward  till  it  vent 

Ganz  X  teufelwards  afay. 

*  Cut.  f  Straight.  %  Quite. 


264  CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 

Boot  vherc  ish  now  de  Schnitzerl's  soul  ? 

Vere  dos  his  shbirit  pide  ? 
In  Himmel  troo  de  entlcss  plue 

It  takes  a  mcdeor  ride. 

— Breit^nann  Ballads. 

SELECTION     FROM     BREITMANN'S      GOING      TO 

CHURCH. 

Breitmann  had  led  his  troopers  out  of  Nashville  for  the 
purpose  of  visiting  a  distant  church,  partly  in  order  to  satisfy 
his  "  religios  Gefuhl"  and  partly  because  an  "intelligent 
contraband  "  had  brought  information  that  "  There  's  twenty 
barr'ls  of  whisky  in  dat  Tabernacle  sure." 

All  rosen  red  de  mornin  fair 

Shone  gaily  o'er  de  hill, 
All  violet  plue  de  shky  crew  teep 

In  rifer,  pond  und  rill. 
All  cloudy  grey  de  limeshtone  rocks 

Coom  oop  troo  dimmcrin  wood  ; 
All  shnowy  vite  in  mornin  light 

De  shoorsh  pefore  dem  shtood. 

"  Now  loudet  veil  de  Organ  oop, 

To  drill  mit  solemn  fear; 
Und  ring  als6  dat  Lumpenglock, 

To  pring  de  beoples  here. 
Und  if  it  prings  guerillas  down, 

Vc  'II  gife  dem,  py  de  Lord  ! 


GOING  TO   CHURCH.  265 

De  low  mass  of  de  sabre,  und 
De  high  mass  of  de  cord  ! 

"  Du  Eberl^  aus  Freiburg, 

Du  bist  ein  Musikant. 
Top-sawyer  on  de  counter-point 

Und  buster  in  discant. 
To  dee  de  soul  of  music 

All  innerly  ish  known, 
Du  canst  mit  might  fullenden 

De  art  of  orgel-ton. 

"  Derefore  a  Miserere 

Vilt  dou,  be-ghostet,  spiel ; 
Und  vake  re-rais^d  yearnin. 

Also  a  holy  feel : — 
Pe  referent,  men — rememper 

Dis  ish  a  Gotteshaus — 
Du,  Conrad, — go  along  de  aisles, 

Und  schenk  de  whisky  aus !  " 

Dey  blay  crate  dings  from  Mozart, 

Beethoven  und  M6hul, 
Mit  chorals  of  Sebastian  Bach, 

Sooplime  und  peaudiful. 
Der  Breitmann  feel  like  holy  saints, 

De  tears  roon  down  his  fuss. 


266  CHARLES  GOD  PRE  Y  LELAND. 

Und  he  sopped  out :  "  Gott  verdammich — dis 
1st  wahres  Kunstgenuss  !  " 

Der  Eberl6  blayed  oop  so  high 

He  make  de  rafters  ring. 
Der  Eberld  blayed  lower,  und 

Ve  heardt  der  Breitmann  sing. 
Like  a  dronin  wind  in  piney  woods, 

Like  a  nightly  moanin  sea. 
Ash  he  dinked  on  Sonntags  long  agone 

Vhen  a  poy  in  Germany. 

Und  louder  und  mit  louder  tone 

High  oop  de  orgel  blowed, 
Und  plentifuller  efer  yet 

Around  de  whisky  gocd. 
Dey  singed  ash  if  mit  singin  dey 

Might  indo  Himmel  win  : — 
I  dink  in  all  dis  land  soosh  shprees 

Ash  yet  hafe  ncfcr  pcen. 

Vhen  in  de  Abcndsonnenschcin, 
Mit  doost-cloudts  troo  de  door. 

All  plack  ash  night  in  goldnen  lighdt 
Dere  shtood  cin  schwartzer  Mohr. 

Dat  contrapand  so  wild  und  weh, 
Mit  eye-palls  glarin  round, 


GOING  TO   CHURCH.  267 

Und  cried  :  "  For  Gott's  sake,  hoory  oop ! 
De  reps  ish  gomin  down  !  " 

Und  vhile  he  yet  vas  shpeakin, 

A  far-off  soundt  pegan, 
Down  rollin  from  de  moundain, 

Of  many  a  ridersmann. 
Und  vhile  de  waves  of  musik 

Vere  rollin  o'er  deir  heads, 
Dey  heard  a  foice  a  schkreemin  : 

"  Pile  out  of  thar,  you  Feds  ! 

"  For  we  uns  ar'  a  comin 

For  to  guv  to  you  uns  fits, 
And  knock  you  into  brimstun, 

And  blast  you  all  to  bits — " 
Boot  ere  it  done  ids  shpeakin 

Dere  vas  order  in  de  band. 
Ash  Breitmann,  mit  an  awefool  stim 

Out-dondered  his  gommand. 

Und  ash  fisch-hawk  at  a  mackarel 

Doth  make  a  splurgin  flung, 
Und  ash  eagles  dab  de  flsch-hawks 

Ash  if  de  gods  were  young  ; 
So  from  all  de  doors  und  vindows, 

Like  shpiders  down  deir  webs, 


268  CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 

De  Dootch  went  at  dcir  horses, 
Und  de  horses  at  de  rebs. 

Crate  shplendors  of  de  treadful 

Verc  in  dat  pattle  rush  ; 
Crate  vights  mit  swordt  und  carpine 

Py  efery  fence  and  bush  ; 
Ash  panters  vight  mit  crishes 

In  famished  mordcr  fits — 
For  de  rebs  vere  mad  ash  boison, 

Und  de  Dootch  ver  droonk  as  blitz. 

Yet  vild  ash  vas  dis  pattle, 

So  quickly  vas  it  o'er  : — 
O  vhy  moost  I  forefer 

Pestain  mine  page  mit  gore  ! 
Py  liddle  und  py  liddlc, 

Dey  drawcd  dcmsclfs  afay  ; 
Oft  toornin  round  to  vighten, 

Like  booffaloes  at  bay. 

De  scattcrin  shots  grew  fewer, 
De  scatterin  gries  more  shlow  ; 

Und  furdcr  troo  de  forest 
Ve  heared  dcm  vainter  crow. 

Ve  gifc  von  shout — "  Victoria  !  " 
Und  den  dcr  Brcitmann  said, 


GOIJ^G  TO   CHURCH.  269 

Ash  he  wiped  his  ploody  sabre, 

"  Now,  poys,  count  oop  your  dead  !  " 

O  small  had  peen  our  shoutin 

For  shoy,  if  ve  had  known, 
Dat  de  Stossenheim  im  oaken  Wald 

Lay  dyin  all  alone  ; 
Vhile  his  oldt  white  horse  mit  droopin  het 

Look  dumbly  on  him  down, 
Ash  if  he  dinked,  "  Vy  lyest  dou  here 

Vhile  fightin  's  goin  on  ?" 

Und  dreams  coom  o'er  de  soldier. 

Slow  dyin  on  de  eart. 
Of  a  Schloss  afar  in  Baden, 

Of  his  mutter,  und  nople  birt — 
Of  poverty  und  sorrow 

Vhich  drofe  him  like  de  wind — 
Und  he  sighed  :  "  Ach  weh,  for  de  lofed  ones 

Who  wait  so  far  pehind  !  " 

"  Wohl  auf,  my  soul  o'er  de  moundains ! 

Wohl  auf — well  ofer  de  sea  ! 
Dere  's  a  frau  dat  sits  in  de  Odenwald, 

Und  shpins,  und  dinks  of  me. 
Dere  's  a  shild  ash  blays  in  de  greenin  grass, 

Und  sings  a  liddle  hymn, 


270  CHARLES  GODFREY  L ELAND. 

Und  learns  to  shpeak  a  fader's  name 
Dat  she  ncfer  will  shpcak  to  him. 

"  But  mordal  life  ends  shortly, 

Und  Heafen's  life  is  long — 
Wo  bist  du,  Brcitmann  ? — glaub'es — 

Gott  suffers  no  ding  wrong. 
Now  I  die  like  a  Christian  soldier ; 

My  head  oopon  my  sword  : — 
In  nomine  Donmie  I  " 

Vas  Stossenheim  his  word. 

O,  derc  vas  bitter  wailcn 

Vhcn  Stossenheim  vas  found, 
Efcn  from  dose  dere  lyin 

Fast  d)'in  on  de  grount. 
Boot  time  vas  short  for  vaiten, 

De  shades  vcre  gadderin  dim  ; 
Und  I  nefer  shall  forget  it, 

De  hour  ve  puried  him. 

De  tramp  of  horse  und  soldiers 

Vas  all  dc  funeral  knell, 
De  ring  of  sporn  und  carpine 

Vas  all  de  sacrin  bell. 
Mit  hoontin  knife  und  sabre 

Dcy  digged  de  grave  a  span  ; 
From  German  eyes  blue  gleam  in 

De  holy  water  ran. 


GOING  TO   CHURCH.  2/1 

Mit  moss-grown  shticks  und  bark-thong 

De  plessed  cross  ve  made, 
Und  put  it  vhere  de  soldier's  head 

Toward  Germany  vas  laid. 
Dat  grave  is  lost  mid  dead  leafs, 

De  cross  is  gone  afay, 
Boot  Gott  will  find  der  reiter 

Oopon  de  Youngest  Day. 

Und  dinkin  of  de  fightin, 

Und  dinkin  of  de  dead, 
Und  dinkin  of  de  Organ, 

To  Nashville  Breitmann  led. 
Boot  long  dat  rough  oldt  Hanserl 

Vas  ernsthaft,  grim  und  kalt, 
Shtill  dinkin  of  de  heart's  friend, 

He  'd  left  im  gruenen  Wald. 

De  verses  of  dis  boem 

In  Heidelberg  I  write. 
De  night  is  dark  around  me, 

De  shtars  apove  are  bright. 
Studenten  im  den  Gassen 

Make  singen  many  a  song, 
Ach  Faderland  ! — wie  bist  du  weit ! 

Ach  Zeit ! — wie  bist  du  lang  ! 


GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

(born,   1824.) 


FROM   THE    SUMMER   DIARY   OF   MINERVA 
TATTLE. 

Newport,  August. 

IT  certainly  is  not  papa's  fault  that  he  does  n't 
understand  French  ;  but  he  ought  not 
to  pretend  to.  It  does  put  one  in  such  uncom- 
fortable situations  occasionally.  In  fact,  I  think 
it  would  be  quite  as  well  if  we  could  sometimes 
"  sink  the  paternal,"  as  Timon  Croesus  says.  I 
suppose  everybody  has  heard  of  the  awful 
speech  pa  made  in  the  parlor  at  Saratoga.  My 
dearest  friend.  Tabby  Dormouse,  told  me  she 
had  heard  of  it  everywhere,  and  that  it  was  ten 
times  as  absurd  each  time  it  was  repeated.  By- 
the-bye,  Tabby  is  a  dear  creature,  is  n't  she  ? 
It 's  so  nice  to  have  a  spy  in  the  enemy's  camp, 
as  it  were,  and  to  hear  every  thing  that  every- 
body says  about  you.  She  is  not  handsome, — 
poor,  dear  Tabby !  There  's  no  denying  it,  but 
she  can't  help  it.     I  was  obliged  to  tell  young 

273 


DIARY  OF  MINERVA   TATTLE.  273 


Downe  so,  quite  decidedly,  for  I  really  think  he 
had  an  idea  she  was  good-looking.  The  idea  of 
Tabby  Dormouse  being  handsome  !  But  she  is 
a  useful  little  thing  in  her  way ;  one  of  my  inti- 
mates. 

The  true  story  is  this. 

Ma  and  I  had  persuaded  pa  to  take  us  to 
Saratoga,  for  we  heard  the  English  party  were 
to  be  there,  and  we  were  anxious  they  should 
see  some  good  society,  at  least.  It  seems  such 
a  pity  they  should  n't  know  what  handsome 
dresses  we  really  do  have  in  this  country !  And 
I  mentioned  to  some  of  the  most  English  of 
our  young  men,  that  there  might  be  something 
to  be  done  at  Saratoga.  But  they  shrugged 
their  shoulders,  especially  Timon  Croesus  and 
Gauche  Boosey,  and  said — 

"  Well,  really,  the  fact  is,  Miss  Tattle,  all  the 
Englishmen  I  have  ever  met  are— in  fact— a 
little  snobbish.     However." 

That  was  about  what  they  said.  But  I 
thought,  considering  their  fondness  of  the  Eng- 
lish model  in  dress  and  manner,  that  they  might 
have  been  more  willing  to  meet  some  genuine 
aristocracy.  Yet,  perhaps,  that  handsome  Col. 
Abattew  is  right  in  saying  with  his  grand  mili- 
tary air, — 


274  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


"  The  British  aristocracy,  madam, — the  Brit- 
ish aristocracy  is  vulgar," 

Well,  we  all  went  up  to  Saratoga.  But  the 
distinguished  strangers  did  not  come.  I  held 
back  that  last  muslin  of  mine,  the  yellow  one, 
embroidered  with  the  Alps,  and  a  distant  view  of 
the  isles  of  Greece  worked  on  the  flounces,  until 
it  was  impossible  to  wait  longer.  I  meant  to 
wear  it  at  dinner  the  first  day  they  came,  with 
the  pearl  necklace  and  the  opal  studs,  and  that 
heavy  ruby  necklace  (it  is  a  low-necked  dress). 
The  dining-room  at  the  "  United  States  "  is  so 
large  that  it  shows  off  those  dresses  finely,  and 
if  the  waiter  does  n't  let  the  soup  or  the  gravy 
slip,  and  your  neighbor,  (who  is,  like  as  not, 
what  Tabby  Dormouse,  with  her  incapacity  to 
pronounce  the  r,  calls  "some  'aw,  'uff  man 
from  the  country,")  doesn't  put  the  leg  of  his 
chair  through  the  dress,  and  if  you  don't  muss 
it  sitting  down — why,  I  should  like  to  know  a 
prettier  place  to  wear  a  low-necked  muslin,  with 
jewels,  than  the  dining-room  of  the  "  United 
States "  at  Saratoga.     .     .     . 

I  am  as  bad   as    dear   Mrs.    Potiphar    about 
coming  to  the   point   of    my   story.     But   the 
truth  is,  that  in  such  engrossing  places  as  Sara 
toga  and  Newport,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  de- 


DIARY  OF  MINERVA   TATTLE.  275 

termine  which  is  the  pleasantest  and  most 
important  thing  among  so  many.  I  am  so 
fond  of  that  old,  droll  Kurz  Pacha,  that  if  I 
begin  to  talk  about  him  I  forget  every  thing 
else.  He  says  such  nice  things  about  people 
that  nobody  else  would  dare  to  say,  and  that 
everybody  is  so  glad  to  hear.  He  is  invalua- 
ble in  society.  And  yet  one  is  never  safe.  Peo- 
ple say  he  is  n't  gentlemanly;  but  when  I  see 
the  style  of  man  that  is  called  gentlemanly,  I 
am  very  glad  he  is  not.  All  the  solemn,  pomp- 
ous men  who  stand  about  like  owls,  and  never 
speak,  nor  laugh,  nor  move,  as  if  they  really 
had  any  life  or  feeling,  are  called  "  gentle- 
manly." Whenever  Tabby  says  of  a  new 
man — "  But  then  he  is  so  gentlemanly  !  "  I 
understand  at  once.  It  is  another  case  of 
the  well-dressed  wooden  image.  Good  heav- 
ens! do  you  suppose  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  or 
the  Chevalier  Bayard,  or  Charles  Fox,  were 
"gentlemanly"  in  this  way?  Confectioners 
who  undertake  parties  might  furnish  scores  of 
such  gentlemen,  with  hands  and  feet  of  any 
required  size,  and  warranted  to  do  nothing 
"ungentlemanly."  For  my  part,  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  a  gentleman  is  something  positive, 
not   merely  negative.     And    if   sometimes  my 


2/6  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

friend  the  Pacha  says  a  rousing  and  wholesome 
truth,  it  is  none  the  less  gentlemanly  because  it 
cuts  a  little.  He  says  it  's  very  amusing  to 
observe  how  coolly  we  play  this  little  farce  of 
life, — how  placidly  people  get  entangled  in  a 
mesh  at  which  they  all  rail,  and  how  fiercely 
they  frown  upon  anybody  who  steps  out  of 
the  ring.  "  You  tickle  me  and  I  '11  tickle  }'ou  ; 
but,  at  all  events,  you  tickle  me,"  is  the  motto 
of  the  crowd. 

''  Allans!''  says  he,  "who  cares?  lead  off  to 
the  right  and  left — down  the  middle  and  up 
again.  Smile  all  around,  and  bow  gracefully  to 
your  partner ;  then  carry  your  heavy  heart  to 
your  chamber,  and  drown  in  your  own  tears. 
Cheerfully,  cheerfully,  my  dear  Miss  Minerva. 
Saratoga  until  August,  then  Newport  until  the 
frost,  the  city  afterwards ;  and  so  an  endless 
round  of  happiness." 

And  he  steps  off  humming  II  scgreto per  esser 
felice  ! 

Well,  we  were  all  sitting  in  the  great  drawing- 
room  at  the  "  United  States."  We  had  been 
bowling  in  our  morning  dresses,  and  had  rushed 
in  to  ascertain  if  the  distinguished  English 
party  had  arrived.  They  had  not.  They  were 
in  New  York,  and  would  not  come.     That  was 


DIARY  OF  MINERVA   TATTLE.  2'jy 

bad,  but  we  thought  of  Newport  and  probable 
scions  of  nobility  there,  and  were  consoled. 
But  while  we  were  in  the  midst  of  the  talk,  and 
I  was  whispering  very  intimately  with  that 
superb  and  aristocratic  Nancy  Fungus,  who 
should  come  in  but  father,  walking  toward  us 
with  a  wearied  air,  dragging  his  feet  along,  but 
looking  very  well  dressed  for  him.  I  smiled 
sweetly  when  I  saw  that  he  was  quite  presenta- 
ble, and  had  had  the  good  sense  to  leave  that 
odious  white  hat  in  his  room,  and  had  buttoned 
his  waistcoat.  The  party  stopped  talking  as  he 
approached  ;  and  he  came  up  to  me. 

"  Minna,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  I  hear  every- 
body is  going  to  Newport." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  dear  father,"  I  replied,  and  Nancy 
Fungus  smiled.  Father  looked  pleased  to  see 
me  so  intimate  with  a  girl  he  always  calls  "  so 
aristocratic  and  high-bred-looking,"  and  he  said 
to  her — 

"  I  believe  your  mother  is  going,  Miss  Fun- 
gus? 

"  Oh  !  yes,  we  always  go,"  replied  she,  "  one 
must  have  a  few  weeks  of  Newport." 

"  Precisely,  my  dear,"  said  poor  papa,  as  if 
he  rather  dreaded  it,  but  must  consent  to  the 
hard  necessity  of  fashion.     "  They  say,  Minna, 


278  GEORGE  WILLIAM   CURTIS. 

that  all  the  parvetws  are  going  this  year,  so  I 
suppose  we  shall  have  to  go  along." 

There  was  a  blow  !  There  was  perfect  silence 
for  a  moment,  while  poor  pa  looked  amiable, 
as  if  he  could  n't  help  embellishing  his  conver- 
sation with  French  graces.  I  waited  in  horror ; 
for  I  knew  that  the  girls  were  all  tittering  in- 
side, and  every  moment  it  became  more  absurd. 
Then  out  it  came.  Nancy  Fungus  leaned  her 
head  on  my  shoulder,  and  fairly  shook  with 
laughter.  The  others  hid  behind  their  fans, 
and  the  men  suddenly  walked  off  to  the  win- 
dows, and  slipped  on  to  the  piazza.  Papa 
looked  bewildered,  and  half  smiled.  But  it  was 
a  very  melancholy  business,  and  I  told  him  that 
he  had  better  go  up  and  dress  for  dinner. 

It  was  impossible  to  stay  after  that.  The 
unhappy  slip  became  the  staple  of  Saratoga 
conversation.  Young  Booscy  (Mrs.  Potiphar's 
witty  friend)  asked  Morris  audibly  at  dinner, 
"  Where  do  the  parvenus  sit  ?  I  want  to  sit 
among  the  parvenus." 

"  Of  course  you  do,  sir,"  answered  Morris, 
supposing  he  meant  the  circle  of  the  crime  de 
la  crane. 

And  so  the  thing  went  on  multiplying  itself. 
Poor  papa  does  n't  understand  it  yet.     I  don't 


DIARY  OF  MINERVA   TATTLE.  279 

dare  to  explain.  Old  Fungus,  who  prides  him- 
self so  upon  his  family,  (it  is  one  of  the  very- 
ancient  and  honorable  Virginia  families,  that 
came  out  of  the  ark  with  Noah,  as  Kurz  Pacha 
says  of  his  ancestors,  when  he  hears  that  the 
founder  of  a  family  "  came  over  with  the  Con- 
queror,") and  who  cannot  deny  himself  a  joke, 
came  up  to  pa,  in  the  bar-room,  while  a  large 
party  of  gentlemen  were  drinking  cobblers,  and 
said  to  him  with  a  loud  laugh  : 

"  So,  all  iho.  parveitus  are  going  to  Newport : 
are  they.  Tattle  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  replied  pa  innocently,  "  that  's  what 
they  say.  So  I  suppose  we  shall  all  have  to  go, 
Fungus." 

There  was  another  roar  that  time,  but  not 
from  the  representative  of  Noah's  ark.  It  was 
rather  thin  joking,  but  it  did  very  well  for  the 
warm  weather,  and  I  was  glad  to  hear  a  laugh 
against  anybody  but  poor  pa. 

We  came  to  Newport,  but  the  story  came 
before  us,  and  I  have  been  very  much  annoyed 
at  it.  .  .  .  By-the-bye,  that  Polly  Potiphar 
has  been  mean  enough  to  send  out  to  Paris  for 
the  very  silk  that  I  relied  upon  as  this  summer's 
cheval  de  bataille,  and  has  just  received  it  su- 
perbly made  up.     The  worst  of  it  is  that  it  is 


28o  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

just  the  thing  for  her.  She  wore  it  at  the  ball 
the  other  night,  and  expected  to  have  crushed 
me,  in  mine.  Not  she  !  I  have  not  summered 
it  at  Newport  for — well,  for  several  years,  for 
nothing,  and  although  I  am  rather  beyond  the 
strict  white-muslin  age,  I  thought  I  could  yet 
venture  a  bold  stroke.  So  I  arrayed  a  la  Daisy 
Clover, — not  too  much,  pas  trop  jciinc.  And 
awaited  the  onset. 

Kurz  Pacha  saw  me  across  the  room,  and 
came  up,  with  his  peculiar  smile.  He  did  not 
look  at  my  dress,  but  he  said  to  me,  rather 
wickedl)-,  looking  at  my  bou(}uet : 

"  Dear  me  !  I  hardly  hoped  to  see  spring 
flowers  so  late  in  the  summer." 

Then  he  raised  his  eyes  to  mine,  and  I  am 
conscious  that  I  blushed. 

"  It  's  very  warm.  You  feel  very  warm,  I  am 
sure,  my  dear  Miss  Tattle,"  he  continued,  look- 
ing straight  at  my  face. 

"  You  arc  sufficiently  cool,  at  least,  I  think," 
replied  I. 

"  Naturally,"  said  he,  "  for  I  've  been  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  boreal  pole  for  a  half 
an  hour — a  neighborhood  in  which,  I  am  told, 
even  the  most  ardent  spirits  sometimes  freeze, — 
so  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  am  more  than 
usually  dull,  Miss  Minerva." 


DIARY  OF  MINERVA   TATTLE.  28 1 

And  the  Pacha  beat  time  to  the  waltz  with 
his  head. 

I  looked  at  the  part  of  the  room  from  which 
he  had  just  come,  and  there,  sure  enough,  in 
the  midst  of  a  group,  I  saw  the  tall  and 
stately  and  still  Ada  Aiguille. 

"  He  is  a  hardy  navigator,"  continued  Kurz 
Pacha,  "  who  sails  for  the  boreal  pole.  It  is 
glittering  enough,  but  shipwreck  by  daylight 
upon  a  coral  reef,  is  no  pleasanter  than  by 
night  upon  Newport  shoals." 

"  Have  you  been  shipwrecked,  Kurz  Pacha?  " 
asked  I,  suddenly. 

He  laughed  softly :  '*  No,  Miss  Minerva,  I 
am  not  one  of  the  hardy  navigators  ;  I  keep 
close  into  the  shore.  Upon  the  slightest  symp- 
tom of  an  agitated  sea,  I  furl  my  sails  and  creep 
into  a  safe  harbor.  Besides,  dear  Miss  Minna, 
I  prefer  tropical  cruises  to  the  Antarctic  voy- 
age. 

And  the  old  wretch  actually  looked  at  my 
black  hair.  I  might  have  said  something — ap- 
proving his  taste,  perhaps,  who  knows  ? — when 
I  saw  Mrs.  Potiphar.  She  was  splendidly 
dressed  in  the  silk,  and  it  's  a  pity  she  does  n't 
become  a  fine  dress  better.  She  made  for  me 
directly. 


282  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

"  Dear  Minna,  I  'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  Why, 
how  young  and  fresh  you  look  to-night.  Really, 
quite  blooming !  And  such  a  sweet  pretty 
dress,  too,  and  the  darling  baby-waist  and  all," 

"Yes,"  said  that  witty  Gauche  Boosey,  "per- 
mit me.  Miss  Tattle, — quite  an  incarnate  sera- 
phim, upon  my  word," 

"You  are  too  good,"  replied  I;  "  my  dear 
Polly,  it  is  your  dress  which  deserves  admira- 
tion, and  I  flatter  myself  in  saying  so,  for  it  is 
the  very  counterpart  of  one  I  had  made  some 
months  ago," 

"Yes,  darling,  and  which  you  have  not  yet 
worn,"  replied  she,  "  I  said  to  Mr.  P,,  '  Mr.  P.,' 
said  I,  '  there  are  few  women  upon  whose 
amiability  I  can  count  as  I  can  upon  Minerva 
Tattle's,  and,  therefore,  I  am  going  to  have  a 
dress  like  hers.  Most  women  would  be  vexed 
about  it,  and  say  ill-natured  things  if  I  did  so. 
But  if  I  have  a  friend,  it  is  Minerva  Tattle  ;  and 
she  will  never  grudge  it  to  me  for  a  moment,' 
It's  pretty;  is  n't  it?  Just  look  here  at  this 
trimming." 

And  she  showed  me  the  very  handsomest 
part  of  it,  and  so  much  handsomer  than  mine, 
that  I  can  never  wear  it, 

"  Polly,  I  am  so  glad  you  know  me  so  well," 


DIARY  OF  MINERVA   TATTLE.  283 

said  I.  "  I  'm  delighted  with  the  dress.  To  be 
sure,  it  's  rather  pro7tonc^  for  your  style ;  but 
that  's  nothing." 

Just  then  a  polka  struck  up.  "  Come  along ! 
give  me  this  turn,"  said  Boosey,  and  putting 
his  arm  round  Mrs.  Potiphar's  waist,  he  whirled 
her  off  into  the  dance. 

How  I  did  hope  somebody  would  come  to 
ask  me.     Nobody  came. 

"  You  don't  dance?  "  asked  Kurz  Pacha,  who 
stood  by  during  my  little  talk  with  Polly  P. 

"  Oh, yes," answered  I,  and  hummed thepolka. 

Kurz  Pacha  hummed  to,  looked  on  at  the 
dancers  a  few  minutes,  then  turned  to  me,  and 
looking  at  my  boquet  said : 

"  It  is  astonishing  how  little  taste  there  is 
for  spring  flowers." 

At  that  moment  young  Croesus  "  came  in," 
warm  with  the  whirl  of  the  dance,  with  Daisy 
Clover. 

"  It  's  very  warm,"  said  he,  in  a  gentlemanly 
manner. 

"  Dear  me  !  yes,  very  warm,"  said  Daisy. 

"  Been  long  in  Newport  ?  " 

"  No  ;  only  a  few  days.  We  always  come, 
after  Saratoga,  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  But  is  n't 
it  delightful?" 


284  GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


"  Quite  so,"  said  Timon  coolly,  and  smiling 
at  the  idea  of  anybody's  being  enthusiastic 
about  any  thing.  That  elegant  youth  has 
pumped  life  dry ;  and  now  the  pump  only 
wheezes. 

"  Oh  !  "  continued  Daisy,  "  it  's  so  pleasant 
to  run  away  from  the  hot  city,  and  breathe  this 
cool  air.  And  then  Nature  is  so  beautiful.  Are 
you  fond  of  Nature,  Mr.  Croesus?  " 

"  Tolerably,"  returned  Timon. 

"  Oh  !  but  Mr.  Croesus  !  to  go  to  the  glen 
and  skip  stones,  and  to  walk  on  the  cliff,  and 
drive  to  Bateman's,  and  the  fort,  and  to  go  to 
the  beach  by  moonlight ;  and  then  the  bowling- 
alley,  and  the  archery,  and  the  Gcrmania.  Oh! 
it  *s  a  splendid  place.  But,  perhaps,  you  don't 
like  natural  scenery,  Mr.  Croesus?" 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Mr.  Croesus. 

"Well,  some  people  don't,"  said  darling  little 
Daisy,  folding  up  her  fan,  as  if  quite  ready  for 
another  turn. 

"  Come  now  ;  there  it  is,"  said  Timon,  and, 
grasping  her  with  his  right  arm,  they  glided  away. 

"  Kurz  Pacha,"  said  I,  "  I  wonder  who  sent 
Ada  Aiguille  that  boquet  ?  " 

"Sir  John  T^ranklin,  I  presume,"  returned  he. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  asked  I. 


DIARY  OF  MINERVA  TATTLE.  285 

Before  he  could  answer,  Boosey  and  Mrs. 
Potiphar  stopped  by  us. 

*'  No,  no,  Mr.  Boosey,"  panted  Mrs.  P.,  "  I 
will  not  have  him  introduced.  They  say  his 
father  actually  sells  dry-goods  by  the  yard  in 
Buffalo." 

"  Well,  but  he  does  n't,  Mrs.  Potiphar." 

"  I  know  that,  and  it  's  all  very  well  for  you 
young  men  to  know  him,  and  to  drink,  and 
play  billiards,  and  smoke  with  him.  And  he  is 
handsome  to  be  sure,  and  gentlemanly,  and,  I 
am  told,  very  intelligent.  But,  you  know,  we 
can't  be  visiting  our  shoemakers  and  shop-men. 
That  's  the  great  difificulty  of  a  watering-place, 
one  does  n't  know  who  's  who.  Why,  Mrs.  Gnu 
was  here  three  summers  ago,  and  there  sat  next 
to  her,  at  table,  a  middle-aged  foreign  gentle- 
man, who  had  only  a  slight  accent,  and  who 
was  so  affable  and  agreeable,  so  intelligent  and 
modest,  and  so  perfectly  familiar  with  all  kinds 
of  little  ways,  you  know,  that  she  supposed  he 
was  the  Russian  Minister,  who,  she  heard,  was 
at  Newport  incognito  for  his  health.  She  used 
to  talk  with  him  in  the  parlor,  and  allowed  him 
to  join  her  upon  the  piazza.  Nobody  could 
find  out  who  he  was.  There  were  suspicions, 
of   course.     But   he   paid   his   bills,  drove  his 


286  GEORGE  IV ILL! AM  CURTIS. 

horses,  and  was  universally  liked.  Dear  me ! 
appearances  are  so  deceitful  !  who  do  you  think 
he  was?  " 

"  I  'm  sure  I  can't  imagine." 

"  Well,  the  next  spring  she  went  to  a  music 
store  in  Philadelphia,  to  buy  some  guitar  strings 
for  Claribel,  and  who  should  advance  to  sell 
them  but  the  Russian  Minister !  Mrs.  Gnu  said 
she  colored — " 

"  So  I  'vc  always  understood,"  said  Gauche, 
laughing. 

"  Fie!  Mr.  Boosey,"  continued  Mrs.  1\,  smil- 
ing. But  the  music-seller  did  n't  betray  the 
slightest  consciousness.  He  sold  her  the 
strings,  received  the  money,  and  said  nothing, 
and  looked  nothing.  Just  think  of  it  !  She 
supposed  him  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  he  was 
really  a  music-dealer.  You  see  that  's  the  sort 
of  thing  one  is  exposed  to  here,  and  though 
your  friend  may  be  very  nice,  it  is  n't  safe  for 
me  to  know  him.  In  a  country  where  there  's 
no  aristocracy  one  can't  be  too  exclusive.  Mrs. 
Peony  says  she  thinks  that  in  the  future  she 
shall  really  pass  the  summer  in  a  farm-house,  or 
if  she  goes  to  a  watering-place,  confine  herself 
to  her  own  rooms  and  her  carriage,  and  look  at 
people  through  the  blinds.     I  'm  afraid  myself 


DIARY  OF  MINERVA  TATTLE.  287 

it  's  coming  to  that.  Everybody  goes  to 
Saratoga  now,  and  you  see  how  Newport  is 
crowded.  For  my  part  I  agree  with  the  Rev. 
Cream  Cheese,  that  there  are  serious  evils  in  a 
repubhcan  form  of  government.  What  a  hide- 
ous head-dress  that  is  of  Mrs.  Settum  Downe's ! 
What  a  lovely  polka-redowa  !  " 

"  So  it  is,  by  Jove  !  Come  on,"  replied  the 
gentlemanly  Boosey,  and  they  swept  down  the 
hall. — Potiphar  Papers. 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  288  474 


1  he  Library   of 
r         )    FKEEDMAN 


bJOK  .  O... 


